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THE PROFLIGATE 



THE PROFLIGATE 



A PLAY IJV FOUR ACTS 



ARTHUR Wr'PINERO 



It Is a good and soothfast saw ; 
Half -roasted never will be raw ; 
No dougn is dried once more to meal, 
No crock new-shapen by the wheel ; 
You can't turn curds to milk asrain. 
Nor Now, by wishing, back to Then ; 
And having tasted stolen honey. 
You can't buy innocence for money." 



3 (of/ X 



NEW YORK j 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY ! 

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Copyright, 1891, by 
ARTHUR W. PINERO 

All Rights Reserved 



TROW DIRECTORY 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 

NEW YORK 



THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY. 



DUNSTAN ReNSHAW, 

Leslie, 

Wilfrid BrudejsEll, 
Janet Preece, 
Hugh Murray, 
Mr. Cheal, 



Lord Dangars, 
Mrs. Stonehay, 
Irene (Iier daugJiter), 
Mr. Ephgraves, 
Weaver, 
Priscilla. 



THE FIRST ACT. 
"This Man and This Woman." 



THE SECOND ACT. 
The Sword of Damocles. 



THE THIRD ACT. 
The End of the Honeymoon. 



THE FOURTH ACT. 
The Beginning of a New Life. 



\ 
\ 

\ 



THE PROFLIGATE 

' THE FIRST ACT. 

" THIS MAN AND THIS WOMAN. 

The scene is the junior partnefs room in the offices of 
Mess.^s. Cheal and Mueray, solicitors, Furmvcds 
Inn, Uolborn. There is a gloomy air about the 
place, with its heavy, old-fashioned furniture, its 
oak-paneUed ivalls and dirty white mantelpiece, 
and its accumulation of black tin deed-boxes. 

Hugh Murray, a pale, thoughtful, resolute-looking man 
of about thirt,/, plainly dressed, is wrding in- 
tently at a ped^.stal table. He pays no heed to a 
knock at the dvor, which is followed by the en- 
trance o/'Mr. Ephgraves, an elderly, sober-lookmg 
clerk, who places a slip of paper before him. 

Hugh Murray. 

Lord Dangars. 

Mr. EphO'RAVES. 

Yes. 

Hugh Murpay. 

Mr. Cheal always sees Lord Dangars. 



2 THE PROFLIGATE 

Mr. Ephgraves. 

Yes, sir, but Mr. Clieal is so put about by this 
morning's very unusual business that he doesn't 
wish to see anybody till after the wedding. 

Hugh Murray. 
Very well. 

Mr. Ephgraves. 

[^Handing a bundle of legal documents to Hugh.] 
"Dangars v. Dangars." Oh, excuse me, but Mr. 
Renshaw has sent in some little nosegays with a 
request that they should be worn to-day. [Sniffing 
the flower in his buttonhole.] As the wedding takes 
place from the office, as it were, I considered it 
would be a permissible compliment to our client, 
the bride 

Hugh Murray. 
Quite so — very kind of Mr. Eensha'^v. 

Mr. Ephgraves. 
I shouldn't have mentioned it, but I see you're not 
wearing yours. 

Hugh Murray. 

Ob, this is from Mr. Renshaw ? 

Mr. Ephgraves. 
Yes. 

Hugh Murray. 

We are keeping Lord Dangars waiting. 

[Ephgraves goes info the clerL's office, as Hugh 
takes a flower from a glass on the table.] 



THE PUOFLIOATE 6 

Hugh Murray. 

I can't wear it — I can't wear it, at her wedding. 
[Ephgraves ushers in Lord Dangars, a tall, thin, dis- 
sipated-looking man of about forty, dressed in the 
height of fashion.] 

Lord Dangars. 
Good morning, Mr. Murray. 

Hugh Murray. 
Good morning. Pray sit down. 

Lord Dangars. 
I don't want to bother you, you know, but my 
servant, who has been reading the newsi3apers for 
me since my damned — I beg your pardon — since my 
divorce business has been before the pubhc, says 
that we were in Court again yesterday. 

Hugh Murray. 
Oh, yes. The Decree Nisi has been made abso- 
lute on the appHcation of the petitioner. 

Lord Dangars. 
The Petitioner. Let me see — they call me the 
Respondent, don't they ? 

Hugh Murray. 
They do [wider his breatJi] amongst other things. 

Lord Dangars. 
It's a deuced odd circumstance that I have been 
nearly everything in divorce cases, but never a peti- 
tioner. Decree Nisi made absolute, eh ? That 
means I am quite free, doesn't it ? 



Certainly. 
Ad J eligible ? 



THE PROFLIGATE 
Hugh Murray. 
Lord Dangars. 
Hugh Murray. 

9 



I beg pardon ? 

Lord Dangars. 
I can marry again ? 

Hugh Murray. 
You could marry again if you thought j^roper. 

Lord Dangars. 
You wouldn't call it improper ? 
Hugh Murray. 
If you ask me that as your solicitor I answer 
No. Otherwise I have what are perhaps i^eculiar 
notions as to the eligibility of a man who marries. 

Lord Dangars. 
Oh, have you ! Well, I don't see that a man's 
eligibility requires any further quahfication than 
that of his being single. You differ ? 

Hugh Murray. 
May I speak honestly, Lord Dangars ? 

Lord D:\ngars. 
Do — I admire anything of that sort. I think 
your partner told me you were a Scotchman and 
new to London. I like to encounter a man in his 
honest stage. 

Hugh Murray. 
Thank you. Then you will allow me to main- 



THE PROFLIGATE 5 

tain that the man who marries a good woman 
knowing that his past life is not as spotless as hers 
grievously wrongs his wife and fools himself. 

Lord Dangaes. 

As for wronging he,y\ that's an abstract question 
of sentiment. But I don't see how the man is a 
fool. 

Hugh Murray. 

A man is a fool to bind himself to one who soon- 
er or later must learn what little need there is to 
respect her husband. 

Lord Dangars. 
Wh}', my dear Mr. Murray, you're actually put- 
ting men on a level with ladies. Ladies, I admit, 
are like nations — to be happy they should have no 
histories. But don't you know that Marriage is 
the tomb of the Past, as far as a man is concerned ? 

Hugh Murray. 
No, I don't know it and I don't believe it. 

Lord D.\ngars. 
Oh, really 

Hugh Murray. 
You can't lay the Past : it has an ugly habit of 
breaking its tomb. 

Lord Dangars. 
Even then the shades of pretty women should, not 
be such very bad company. [Referring to his ivatch.] 
By Jove, a pleasant chat runs into one's time. If 
you want me, " Poste Restante, Rome," till you hear 
aaain. 



6 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 

Going abroad, during the shooting? 

Lord Dangars. 

I must, you know. This divorce business checks 
the pleasant flow of invitations for a season or two. 
So I shall spend a few months tranquilly in Italy 
and write a Society novel 

Hugh Murray. 
A Society novel ! 

Lord Dangaks. 
Yes — that seems the only thing left for a man 
whose reputation is a little off color. Good-bye, 
Mr. Murray. 

Hugh Murray. 

Good-bye, Lord Dangars. Come this way. 

[Hugh opens the door leading on to the staircase- 
la)idi)ig.] 

Lord Dangars. 
Excuse me, but didn't I see Mr. Dunstan Ren- 
shaw enter your outer office just then ? 

Hugh Murray. 
I am expecting Mr. Renshaw. Do you know 
him? 

Lord Dangars. 
Know him ! We're bosom friends. 

Hugh Murray. 
Friends ? you and Mr. Renshaw ? Then of course 
you know that he is going to be married this morn- 
inj?. 



THE PROFLIGATE 7 

Lord Dangars. 

Married ! You're joking ! 

Hugh Murray. 

I have a perfectly serious engagement to accom- 
pany Mr. Eenshaw to the Kegistrar's in half-an- 
hour. 

Lord Dangars. 

You ! No ! Ha, ha ! That's very good — that's 
very good — that's capital ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Why does the idea of Mr. Renshaw's marriage 
amuse you so much, Lord Dangars? 

Lord Dangars. 
My dear Mr. Murray, I am not laughing at Ren- 
shaw's marriage, but it tickles me confoundedly to 
think that you, my Quixotic young friend, are to 
assist at laying the marble slab upon dear old Dun- 
stan's bachelor days — and nights. 

Hugh Murray. 
You mean that Mr. Renshaw is not, according to 
my qualification, an eligible husband for a pure 
honest-hearted woman ? 

Lord Dangars. 
Oh, come, come, Mr. Murray, let us be men of 
the world. Renshaw's a good fellow, just one of my 
own sort ; that's all I mean. 

[Hugh turns away impatiently.'] 

Lord Dangars. 
May I beg to know who's the lady ? 



8 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 

Miss Leslie Brudenell — an orphan — my partner's 
ward. 

Lord Dangars. 

Money ? I needn't ask. 

Hugh Murray. 

If Miss Brudenell were penniless I should de- 
scribe her as a millionaire. She is very sweet, very 
beautiful. 

Lord Dangars. 

You're enthusiastic. 

Hugh Murray. 
No, barely just. \_Spe.aking half to himself.'] I 
thought the same the moment I first saw her. She 
was walking in the grounds of the old school-house 
at Helmstead, and I stood aside in the shade of the 
beeches and watched her — I couldn't help it. And 
I remember how I stan^mered when I spoke to her ; 
because some women are like sacred pictures, you 
can't do more than whisper before them. That's 

only six month's ago, and to-day God forgive 

us if we are doing wrong ! 

Lord Dangars. 
\To himself] I'm dashed if my pious young 
Scotch solicitor isn't in love with the girl himself. 

[Ephgraves comes from the clerk's office.] 

Hugh Murray. 
Mr. Renshaw? 

Mr. Ephgraves. 
Yes. 



THE PROFLIGATE 9 

Lord Dangaes. 



Dunstan ! 



DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

[Speaking outside.'] Why, George ! 

[Dunstan Renshaw ejiters an Ephgraves retires. He 
is a handsome young man with a buoyant self- 
possessed manner, looking not more than thirty, 
bat with the signs of a dissolute life in his face ; 
his clothes are fashionable and betoken the bride- 
groom. J 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

CoBj:^Tatulate you ! So the law has turned you 
into a jolly v\d bachelor ? 

Lord Dangars. 

Yes, my boy — on condition that my solicitor of- 
fers a young fresh victim to Hymen in the course 
of this morning. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

Hallo ! You know all about it, do you ? 

Lord Dangars. 
Mr. Murray broke the news as gently as possible. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

[Shaking hands with Murray.] My best man. 
Good morning, Murray. Was it a shock, George ? 

Lord Dangars. 

Terrible ! You might have knocked n:ie down 
with one of Clotilda Green's lace fans. 



10 THE PROFLIGATE 

DUNSTAN EeN'SHAW. 

Shut up, now ! I've played that sort of game 
out ; so no remmisceuces. 

Lord Dangars. 

Trust me, my dear boy. Make me a friend of 
your hearth and edit my recollections. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Then all you remember is that at Cambridge I 
was a diligent but unlucky student. 

Lord Dangars. 
Quite so — I recollect that perfectly. 

DuNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

And that from boyhood I have suffered from a 
stupefying bashfulness before women. 

Lord Dangars. 
Done. You'll recall the same of me when I next 
have occasion to marry, won't you? 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

It's a bargain. I — \^Puts his hand over his eyes,] 
Oh, confound this ! 

Lord Dangars. 

"What's the matter? Are you ill? 

Dun STAN Renshaw. 

No. Wait a minute. There were some fellows at 

my lodgings last niglit assisting at the launching of 

the ship — I mean, saying good-bye to me. [Sup- 

ports himself unsteadily imth the back of a chair. ] 

They set light to a bowlful of brandy and threw my 



THE PROFLIGATE 11 

latchkey into it — awful fun. And then they all 
swore they'd see the last of me, and they stayed and 
stayed till they couldn't see anything at all. 

[/ie^ sinks on to the chair, with his head resting on 
his hands. Hugh brings him a glass of water.'] 

Hugh Murray. 
Here. 

DUNSTAN RENSHA^Y. 

Thanks. ^Gradually recovering.'] I'm all right. Did 
I look white or yellow ? 

Lord Dangars. 
Neither — green. Fortunate the lady was not 
present. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

Oh, Miss Bi'udenell doesn't know why rooms 
sometimes go round and round. 

Lord Dangars. 
No ? Perhaps her relations are more penetrating. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
Thank goodness there are no such incumbrances. 
Leslie is an orphan ; I'm an orphan. I'm alone 
in the world ; she has only a young brother who 
doesn't count. So we start at even weights. 

[He drains the remainder of the water and shiv- 
ers.'] 

Lord Dangars. 

Met her at a ball, of course. I really will be seen 
at Dances again by-and-by. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
A ball — nonsense. Her only idea of a ball is a lot 



12 THE PROFLIGATE 

of girls sitting against a wall pulling crackers. She's 
a "little maid from school." 

LoED Dangars. 
Charming ! But how 

DUNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

How — I'll give you the recipe. Go down into the 
country for a couple of days' fishing. 

Lord Dangars. 
Often done it — caught fish, no girls. 

Dun STAN Ren SHAW. 
Wait. The stream must run off your host's prop- 
erty through the recreation grounds of a young la- 
dies' school. 

Lord Dangars. 

Times are altered — there was always a brick wall 
in my day. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

Brick walls still exist, but a heavy fish on your 
line breaks down your notions of propriety and you 
paddle along mid-stream. You soon discover some 
pretty little women with their arms round each 
other's waists, and you apologise profusely. 

Lord Dangars. 
But you risk rheumatism. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
So Leslie thought, and that won me her sym- 
pathy. 

Lord Dangars. 
And sympathy is akin to love. 



THE PROFLIGATE 13 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

And love, occasioiiallj, leads to marriage. Help 
deck me for the sacritice, George. As luck would 
have it, Leslie's guardian, Mr. Clieal, was iny 2^^^- 
ple's lawyer years ago, and he knew I w^as a gentle- 
man and all that sort of thing. So Cheal got my 
affairs into something like order, made me settle 
everything on Leslie, and now you behold in me a 
happy bridegroom with a headache fit to convert the 
devil. Thanks, old man. 

[Mr. Cheal comes from his private office. He is an 
elderly man with a pompous manner and Jior id 
complexion, and he appears JliuTied.] 

Mr. Cheal. 
Hasn't Miss Brudenell arrived yet? Ah, good 
morning, Lord Dangars. Mr. Renshaw, pray don't 
be late. I believe it is customary- for the bridegroom 
to receive the lady at the Registrar's. Who is a 
married man here ? Oh, Lord Dangars, perhaps 
yon can tell us. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
No, no ! Ask him something about the Divorce 
Court. 

Mr. Cheal. 
Good gracious, I quite forgot ! Pray pardon nie. 
[Dunstan laughs heartily.^ 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
I'm waiting for Mr. Murray, my best man. 

Mr. Cheal. 
[Rather testily.'] Mr. Murray ! 

(_Hugh gazing into the fire.'] 



14 THE PROFLIGATE 

Mr. Cheal. 
Mr. Murray, j^lease. 

Hugh Mukray. 
Eh? 

iMii. Cheal. 

Mr. Renshaw is waiting. 

Hugh Murray. 
I beg your pardon, Mr. Reusbaw. I must ask 
you to dispeuse with my assistance this morning. 
\^He sits at his table and commences wrdivg, 
ivhile Cheal, Dunstan, and Dangars exchange 
glances.] 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
Oh, all right — don't mention it. 
Lord Dangars. 
[2h himself.] Thought so. 

Mr. Cheal. 
[l.c. to Hugh, keeping hack his temper.] You 
place us in rather an awkward position, Mr. Murray. 
I have to escort Miss Brudenell and I hardly wish 
to send a clerk with Mr. Renshaw. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
Look here, don't bother. Where does this Reg- 
istrar chap hang out? 

Mr. Cheal. 
Twenty-three, Ely Place — very near here. 

Lord Dangars. 
I'll walk with you, my boy, and lend you my mor- 
al support. 



THE PROFLIGATE 15 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Thanks. Bat, excuse me, George, I think we'll 
part comj^any at the Registrar's front door. 

Lord Dangaes. 
You believe in omens then, eh ? 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Well, ever}' man does on his wedding morning. 
Lord Dangars. 

All right. Do you think I want to assist at your 
wedding ? You never came to hear my divorce 
case. 

[Dangars leax^es the office followed by Dunstan.] 

Mr. Cheal. 
Really, Mr. Murray, this is scarcely busincss-like. 

Hugh Murray. 
I think it is all cruelly business-like. Mr. Cheal, 
don't you think it possible, even at this moment, to 
stop this marriage ? 

Mr. Cheal. 
Stop the marriage ! Good gracious, sir, for what 
reason ? 

Hugh Murray. 
The marriage of a simple-minded trustful school- 
girl to a man of whom you know either too little or 
too much. 

Mr. Cheal. 
I know a great deal of Mr. Renshaw. He comes 
of a very excellent family — excellent family. 



16 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 

Are the members of it at hand to speak for hiin ? 

Mr. Cheal. 

They are all, I hope, beyond the reach of preju- 
dice, Mr. Murray. They are unhappily deceased. 

Hugh Murray. 

Then how can you weigh the dead against the 
living? Here are two lives to be brought together 
this morning or kept apart, as you will ; for upon 
you rests the responsibility of this marriage. 

Mr. Cheal. 

I beg your pardon, Mr. Murray. I should have 
thought that a young gentleman of your severe 
training would searceh' need to be reminded that 

marriages are 

Hugh Murray. 

Made in Heaven ? 

Mr. Cheal. 
Yes, sir, certainl}'. 

Hugh Murray. 
This one, sir, is the exclusive manufacture of Hol- 
born. 

Mr. Cheal. 
That's rather a flippant observation.. Mr. Murray, 

Hugh Murray. 
I doubt whether Providence is ever especially 
busy in promoting the union of a delicate-minded 
child with a coarse gross-natured profligate. 



THE PROFLIGATE 17 

Mr. Cheal. 

Mr. Murray, you are speaking of a client in terms 
to which I prefer being no party. Mr. Rensbaw 
may Lave yielded to some of the lighter tempta- 
tions not unknown even in my youth — except to 
those employed in legal studies. But the world is 
not apt to condemn the — the 

Hugh IMurray. 
The license it permits itself ! 
Mr. Cheal. 
You are bullying the world, Mr. Murray. I don't 
attempt, sir, to be much wiser than the world. 

Hugh Murray. 
But it costs so small an effort to be a little better. 
I tell you I have stood by and heard this man Ren- 
shaw laughing over his excesses with the airs of a 
vicious school-boy. 

Mr. Cheal. 
Tut, tut, that's all past. Marriage is the real be- 
ginning of a man's life. 

Hugh Murray. 
No, sir, it is the end of it — what comes after is 
either heaven or hell. 

[Ephgraves enters. ] 
Mr. Ephgraves. 
Miss Brudenell is here with her maid and Mr. 
Wilfrid. 

Hugh Murray. 
Don't brin^i- them in till I ring:. 



IS THE PROFLIGATE 

Mr. Cheal. 

Really, Mr. Murray ! [Ephgraves retires^ 

' Hugh Murray. 

Mr. Cheal, I make a final appeal to you with my 
whole heart. 

Mr. Cheal. 

I am a man of business, Mr. Murray ! 

Hugh Murray. 
I know that ; and I know that this child is an 
unremunerative responsibility of which you would 
gladly be rid. 

Mr. Cheal. 
Frankly, the Trustees were most inadequately pro- 
vided for under the will. 

Hugh Murray. 
Ver}" well — relieve yourself of the trust and throw 
the estate into Chancer}', and from this moment I 
undertake to bear on my shoulders the responsibili- 
ties of Miss Brudenell's future. 

Mr. Cheal. 
My dear sir, you talk as if the young* lady were 
not deeply in love with Mr. Renshaw. 

Hugh Murray. 
What judge is a school-girl of the worth of a 
man ? Of course she falls in love with the first she 
meets. 

Mr. Che-\l. 
Nothing of the kind. Wby, for that matter, Miss 
Brudenell knew you before she met Mr. Eenshaw. 



THE PROFLIGATE 19 

Hugh Mukray. 
Yes, yes — I know ! 

Mr. Cheal. 
You bave been down to the school at Helmstead 
often enough — why on earth didn't the child fall in 
love with you ? 

Hugh IMurray. 

No — true, true. But I have no pretensions to 

of course — I [//e strikes a hell.^ I fear my argu- 
ment has been very poor. 

[Ephgraves ushers in Leslie Brudenell, a siveet-look- 
ivg, golden-haired girl, tadefally though simply 
dressed^ who is accompanied by her brother Wil- 
frid, a handsome, boyish young man of about one 
and twenty, and her maid Priscilla, a healthy- 
looking country girl.^ 

Leslie. 
Oh, Mr. Cheal, am I late ? 

Mr. Cheal. 
Late, my dear — no. Good morning, Mr. Brude- 
nell. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Leslie was ready to start at s^ven o'clock this 
morning and broke the hotel bell ringing for break- 
fast. 

Leslie. 

Oh, don't tell about me. Will, dear. 

Mr. Cheal. 
Let me know when the carriage arrives, Mr. Eph- 
graves. 



20 THE PROFLIGATE 

Mr. Ephgraves. 

Yes, sir. [Ephgraves goes oi*/.] 

Leslie. 

[Offering her hand,] Mr. Murray. 
Hugh Murray. 

Were you very frigLtened lest you should be 
late ? 

Leslie. 
Yes, very. 

Hugh Murray. 

Of course you were. 

Leslie. 

For his sake — be would suffer so if I kept bim 
waiting. Where is he ? 

Hugh jMurray. 

At the Registrar's. 

Leslie. 

Why aren't you with bim ? You promised. 

Hugh Murray. 
I am busy. 

Leslie. 

Oh, bow unkind to be busy on such a morning ! 
Will, Mr. Murray won't come to the wedding. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
That's a shame. How d'y'r do, Mr. Murray ? 

Mr. Cheal. 
Hem ! / shall be there. 



THE PROFLIGATE 21 

"Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Yes, but Leslie wants her London Mother as well 
as her London Father. 

Mr. Cheal. 
Eh ? What's that ? 

Leslie. 
Nothing — be quiet, AVill ! 

Mr. Cheal. 
What is the meaning of a London father and 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

I'll tell you 

Leslie. 

No, no — you tell things so roughly. My London 
Father is a name the school-girls gave you, Mr. 
Cheal, because you are my guardian in London and 
look after me. And when Mr. Murray began to 
come down to Helmstead about once a month to see 
that I was happy, they set about to invent some 
title for him too. And as I couldn't have two 
fathers and I already had a real brother they called 
Mr. Murray my London Mother, because he was so 
thoughtful and tender, just as my school-fellows 
told me their mothers are. 

Mr. Cheal. 
Hem ! Well, my dear, all that is very nice for 
scLool-girls, but it is what practical people call stuff 
and nonsense. I'll go and get my hat. 

[He goes out.^ 
Leslie. 
Mr. Cheal is angry. 



22 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 
No, no. 

Leslie. 

He is. He said stuff and nonsense the other day 
when I begged him to let me be married in a. 
church, and now 

Hugh Murray. 

Ah, don't think of Mr. Cheal's very business-like 
manner. 

Leslie. 

I can't help it. Tell me, Mr. Murray, does every- 
thing simple become stuff and nonsense when you 
get married ? 

Hugh Murray. 

How should I know, my child? I am an old 
bachelor. {Pbi^qillk beckoning Leslie ] 

Priscilla. 

Missy — Miss — you're untidy again ! 

Leslie. 

Oh, no, don't say that ! 

[Priscilla arranges her costumed] 

Leslie. 

The little mirror, Priscilla. [^Surveying herself 
critically as the sunlight enters at the ivindoivs.] Pris- 
cilla, I'm getting uglier as the day wears on. 

Priscilla. 
I'm sure you're quite good looking enough for 
London, Miss. 



THE PROFLIGATE 23 

Leslie. 

I'm not thinking about London. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

[Addressing Hugh.] That's an odd picture for a 
musty lawyer's office. 

Hugh Murray. 
Ay — imagine what would become of a plain mat- 
ter-of-fact lawyer, sitting here scribbling day after 
day, if he could never get that vision out of his 
eyes. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Rather bad for his client, eh ? 

Hugh Murray. 
Yes, and bad for the lawyer. 
Leslie. 
I hope the Registrar's office is very dark, Mr. 
Murray. I particularly dislike my face to-daj'. 

Priscilla. 
[]Vfdspering to Hugh.] Ain't she sweet and 
pretty, sir? 

Hugh Murray. 
Yes. 

Priscili,a. 

A lucky gentleman Mr. Renshaw, sir, 
Hugh Murray. 

Ay. 

Leslie. 
I heard that. Indeed Mr. Renshaw is not lucky 
at all. 



24 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 

I think so. Why not ? 

Leslie. 

Because I am not worthy of him. You're his 
friend, Mr. Murray, and you know how generous 
and true he is. I can tell you, my London Mother, 
that every night and morning since I have been en- 
gaged, I have prayed nothing but this, over and 
over again — " Make me good enough — good enongli 
for Dunstan Renshaw ! " libjGB. moves away. ^ 

Leslie. 

[Looking at herself in the mirror. '\ I wish now I 
bad added " make me a little prettier." 

[Ephgraves appears at the door.l 

Mr. Ephgraves. 

The carriage is here, sir. 

Leslie and Priscilla. 
Oh! 

Hugh Murray, 
Tell Mr. Cheal. 

[Leslie is a little flurried and Priscilla at once 
busies Iter self about Leslie's costume.] 

Mr. Ephgraves. 
A young lady is in my room waiting to see you, 
Mr. Murray. She brings a card of Mr. Wilfrid's 
with your name on it in his writing. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Oh, I am so glad she has called ! Mr. Murray, 
I've found your firm a new client. 



TEE PROFLIGATE 25 

Hugh Mukray, 

Indeed — thank you — thank you. In a few mo- 
ments, Mr. Ei^ho-raves. 

[Ephgeaves goes into the inner office.] 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
It's quite a romance, isn't it, Leslie ? 

Leslie. 
Oh, don't speak to me, please, dear. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

When Leslie and I arrived at Paddington Station 
last night, a solitary young lady got out of the next 
compartment. Les, wasn't she gentle and pretty? 

Leslie. 
Yes — yes. There's a button off my glove. 

[Priscilla hastily produces needle and thread and 
commences stitching the glove.] 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
The poor little thing seemed quite lost in the 
crowd and bustle and at last, pushed about by the 
porters and passengers, she sat herself down to cry. 
We asked if we could help her. Do you remember 
how pretty she looked then, Les ? 

Leslie. 
I can't remember anything till I have been mar- 
ried a little while. Do be quick, Priscilla. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Well, what do you think the poor little lady 
wanted ? 



26 THE PROFLIGATE 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

She wanted to find the cleverest man in London, 
someone to advise her on an avs^fully important mat- 
ter. Leslie said / ^\as clever, didn't you, Les? 

Leslie. 

Yes, but I thought of Mr. Renshaw. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

But, said I, " I know what you really need — a law- 
yer," and I gave her my card to present to Mr. Hugh 
Murray, of Cheal and Murray, Furnival's Inn. 

Hugh Murray. 
Thank you — thank you. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
\_To himself.] I wish I could find her here when we 
come back. [Cheal bustles into the room.] 

Mr. Cheal. 
Now then, my dear, are you ready ? 
Leslie. 

Ready ! You had better say Farewell to Miss Les- 
lie Brudenell, Mr. Murray ; you will never see her 
again. 

Hugh Murray. 
Good-bye. 

Leslie. 
Come to my wedding. 

Hugh Murray. 
I — I am busy. 

[He turnis away and sits at his desk.] 



THE PROFLIGATE 27 

Leslie. 
[7^0 herself.'] I wonder whether the world will be 
of the same colour when I am married ? Mr. Mur- 
ray seems changing already. 

Mr. Cheal. 
My dear ! - 

[Cheal offers his arm to Leslie, who, as she takes 
it, looks appealingly at Hugh, but he ivill not 
notice her.] 

Leslie. 
Mr. Murray ! Mr. Murray ! 

[She leaves the room on Cheal's arm, attended by 
Priscilla.] 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
I say, we shan't be long getting married. I wish 
you could detain the young lady till I return. 
Hugh Murray. 
Yes — yes. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
It's of no consequence, you know. 

[Wilfrid runs out after the wedding party.] 

Hugh Murray. 
She is going. [He goes to the window and looks 
out.] Ah ! They have taken her away. The Inn 
is empty. 

[Ephgraves enters.] 

Mr. Ephgraves. 
H'm ! Mr. Murray. 

Hugh Murray. 
They have gone, Ephgraves. 



28 THE PROFLIGATE 

Mr. Ephgraves. 

Yes. [Handing Jam a slij) of paper.] Will j'ou 
see the young lady now ? 

Hugh Murray. 
Certainly. [Ephgraves goes out.] 

Hugh Murray. 
[Beading.] "Miss Janet Preece, introduced by 
Mr. Wilfrid Brudenell." 

[Ephgraves ushei^s in Janet Preece, a pretly, simply- 
dressed girl of about eighteen, with an ingenuous 
and timid air, and a troubled look.] 

Janet Preece. 
Are you Mr. Murray, sir ? 

Hugh Murray. 
Yes. Sit down there. You wish to see a solic- 
itor, I understand ? 

Janet Preece. 
A lawyer, sir. 

Hugh Murray. 
That's the same thing — sometimes. In what way 
can I serve 3'ou ? 

Janet Preece. 
I — I thought you would be older. 

Hugh Murray. 
Mr. Cheal, my partner, is older than I, but he is 
out. Can't you believe in me ? 

Janet Preece. 
It isn't that I think you're not clever. 



THE PROFLIGATE 29 

Hugh Mukeay. 

Come, come, that's somethiDg. 

Janet Pkeece. 

But you don't know why I — what I have to — 
Heaven help me ! 

Hugh Mukray. 

You know, people bring their troubles to men 
like me quite as an ordinary matter 

Janet Peeece. 
Yes, sir — ordinary troubles. I could tell a 
woman : I could tell your wife if she was as kind as 
you seem to be. 

Hugh IMureay. 
My dear young lady, I have no wife. Come now, 
don't think of me as anything but a mere nmchine. 
[^He lidens ivithoiU looking at her.] 

Janet Peeece. 
I — want — to — find somebody who has disap- 
peared. 

Hugh ^Iueray. 
Yes ? A man or a woman ? 

Janet Peeece. 
A man. 

Hugh Mueeay. 
The task may be very easy or very difficult. Is 
he a London man ? 

Janet Peeece. 

Yes, a town gentleman who does ill in the coun- 
try. 



30 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 

Shall I begin by writing down his name ? 

Janet Preece. 

I don't know his name — I only know the name he 
called himself by away down home. Mr. — Law- 
rence — Kenward. Lawrence — Kenvvard — Esquire. 

Hugh Murray. 

How do you know the name is assumed ? 

J.\NET Preece. 

Because I once came softly into the room while 
he was signing a letter ; he wrote only his initials, 
but I saw that they didn't belong to the name of 
Lawrence KenNvard. 

Hugh Murray. 
What were the initials ? 

Janet Preece. 
D. R. 

Hugh Murray. 

[Scribbling upon a sheet of paper,] Ah, you may 
liaYe been mistaken. The letters " D. R." and " L. 
K." have some resemblance at a distance. 

Janet Preece. 

No — no, no — no ! 

Hugh Murray. 

{Scribbling again.] Now, making the " D. E." in 
this way [significantly] D. R. 



THE PROFLIGATE 31 

Janet Preece. 

I'm not mistaken, for when I charged him with 
deceiving me he told me a falsehood with his lips 
and the truth with his eyes. And that night he 
broke with me. 

Hugh Murray. 

[To himself, looking at his ivatch.] It is her name 
now. Why do I let everything remind me of it ? 
D. E. [To Janet.] Have you any letter from this 
man ? 

Janet Preece. 

No. He was always too near me for the need of 
writing, the more's the shame, 

Hugh Murray. 

Have you his portrait — a photograph ? 

Janet Preece. 

He always meant me too much ill to give me a 
portrait. 

Hugh Murray. 
Describe him. 

Janet Preece. 

A man about your age, sir, I should guess, but 
with a boy's voice when he speaks to women. I — I 
— I can't describe him. 

Hugh Murray. 
[To himself.] Great Heavens! If by any aw- 
ful freak of fate this poor creature is a victim of 
Renshaw's — and she at this moment standing beside 

him ! What a fool I am to think of no man 

but Reushaw ! 



32 THE PROFLIGATE 

Janet Peeece. 
Don't ask me to describe him in words, sir, I can't, 
I can't. But I've taught my clumsy bands to draw 
bis face faithfully. I'm not boasting — I can't draw 
anything else because I see nothing else. Give 
me some paper I can sketch upon, and a pencil. 

[Hugh hands her paper and pencil, and ivatches 
ivhile she sketches.~\' 

Hugh Murkay. 
[To himself.] If the face she sketches should 
bear any resemblance to his, what could I do, what 
could I do ? 

Janet Peeece. 
[To herself.'] That's with his mocking look as I 
last saw him. He is always mocking me now. 

Hugh Mureay. 
[To himself.] I could do nothing — it's too late — 
nothing. Shall I look now? No. What a coward 
I am ! Yes. [He looks over Janet's shoulder. ] 

Hugh Mueeay. 
[To himself.] Renshaw ! [He struggles against 
his agitation.] The wife ! I must think of the 
wife. My poor child, the most accurate portrait in 
the world is poor material towards hunting for a 
man in this labyrinth of London. 

Janet Peeece. 

Oh, but take it. His face must be familiar to 

hundreds of men and women in London. I know 

that he belongs to some of your great clubs and 

goes to the race meetings in grand style — he has 



THE PROFLIGATE 33 

told me so. And take these. These papers tell 
you all about me aud give an address where you 
can write to me when you've traced him. 

Hugh Murray. 

I — I can't undertake this search. It's useless — 
it's useless. 

Janet Preece. 

No, no — don't refuse to help me ! Your face saj^s 
you are clever — it's easy work for you. He isn't in 
hiding ; lie is flaunting about in broad sunlight in 
3'our fine parks, maybe with another poor simple 
girl on his arm. Find him for me ! He isn't a 
murderer stealing along in the shadow of walls at 
night-time — he is only a betrayer of women, and 
men don't hide for that ! 

Hugh Murray. 

I — I'll look through this bundle of papers. You 
shall hear from me to-morrow. 

\_He is shoioing Janet io the door when Wilfrid 
enters.'] 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Oh, I'm so glad you've found j-our way here ! 
How strange that we should meet again ! 

Janet Preece. 
Yes. Thank you, thank you for your kindness. 
Good bye ! [_She goes liurriedbj from the room.] 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
There now ! After my hurrying off on the chance 
of seeing her, and being nearly run down in Hol- 
born — only " thank you " and " good-bye ! " 



34 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 
Have they left the Kegistrar's ? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
He was congratulating them when I stole away. 

Hugh Murray. 

\_To himself.^ If the poor girl should come face to 
face with Kenshaw this morning ! 

[Hugh looks out of the ivindoiv.] 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Come now, Mr. Murray, isn't she sweet ? 

Hugh Murray. 

Yes, yes. [Then to himself.] She is crossing the 
Inn. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

And don't you thank me for sending you such a 
pretty client ? 

Hugh Murray. 
She's gone. 

Wilfrid Brudenell, 

Do tell me about her. What's her name ? I 
should like to think of her by some name. 

Hugh Murray. 
A lawyer talks of everything but his clients, my 
boy. So — your sister is married, eh ? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Married ! She was married before one's eyes 
became used to the darkness of the gloomy little 
office. 



THE PROFLIGATE 35 

Hugh Murray. 
Married — fast married ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

The older I grow the more positive I am that 

nothing in life takes any time to speak of. You're 

born in no time, j^ou're married in no time, you live 

no time, you die in no time, you're forgotten in no 

time 

Hugh Murray. 
But you suffer all the time. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Suffer ! Leslie and I intend never to suffer. We 
sat up together late last night, hand in hand, and 
we entered into a compact that we'll remain to each 
other simple, light-hearted boy and girl for ever and 
ever. That's the way to be happy. Hark ! 

[He opens the door.'] 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Here they are ! Hallo, Dunstan ! 

[Renshaw enters, foUoived by his man, Weaver, ivho 
carries his travelling coat and hat.] 

DuNSTAN Renshaw. 
It's all over, Mr. Murray. Ha, ha I Leslie was on 
the verge of tears because the Registrar wouldn't 
read the Marriage Service. What do you want, 
Weaver ? 

Weaver. 
If you mean to get to Cannon Street, to catch the 
12.37 for Folkestone, you haven't any time to lose, 
sir. 



36 THE PROFLIGATE 

DUNSTAN KeNSHAW. 

Oh. [To Wilfrid.] Leslie is affixing lier signature, 
with a great deal of dignit}^ to some legal docu- 
ments in the next room. Ask her to omit the flour- 
ishes, Wilfrid ; there's a good fellow. 

[Wilfrid goes quickly into the clerics office fol- 
lowed by Weaver.] 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

[Hums an car and yawns.] I say, Murray, if you 
ever marry, take my advice — patronize the Regis- 
trar ; the process is rapid and merciful. 

Hugh Murray. 

Mr. Renshaw, I don't stand in need of your coun- 
sel on the question of marriage, but less than half 
an hour ago you might with profit to yourself hav3 
asked for mine. 

DuNSTAN Renshaw. 
What's the matter ? What's wrong ? 
Hugh Murray. 

I tell you to your face, you have done a cruel, a 
wanton act ! 

DuNSTAN Renshaw. 

What do you mean ? 

Hugh Murray. 

I know your past ! I know that your mind is 
vicious and your heart callous ; and yet you have 
dared to join lives with a child whose knowledge of 
evil is a blank and whose instincts are pure and 
beautiful — God forgive you ! 



THE PROFLIGATE 37 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Mr. Murray, the tone jou're good enongli to 
adopt deserves some special recognition. But 
you've always, I understand, been very kind to Les- 
lie, and I don't choose to dispute with one of her 
friends on her wedding morning. 

Hugh IMueray. 

You can't dispute with me because there is no 
question of truth between us ! 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Oh, as to my past, which you are pleased to wax 
mightily moral about, well — I have taken the world 

as I found it 

Hugh Murray. 

You chant the litany of these who rifle and 
wrong! You have simply taken the world's evil as 
you found it ! I warn you ! 

DuNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

And I warn you that you'll do badly as a lawyer. 
Try the pulpit. 

Hugh Murray. 

I warn you ! As surely as we now stand face to 
face, the crime you connnit to-day you will expiate 
bitterly ! 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Thank you for your warning, Mr. Murray. It is 
my intention to expiate my atrocities by a life of 
tolerable ease and comfort. [Lookivg at his ivalch.] 
We shall really lose our train. 



38 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 
[^Tarnmg aivay in disgust.] Oh ! 

DUNST.\N ReNSHAW. 

And it may surprise a sentimental Scotch gentle- 
man like yourself to learn that marriages of con- 
tentment are the reward of husbands who have 
takeji the precaution to sow their wild oats rather 
thickly. 

Hugh Murray. 
Contentment ! 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
Yes — I've studied the question. 

Hugh Murray. 
Contentment ! Reushaw, do 3'ou imagine there 
is no Autumn in the life of a profligate ? Do 3^ou 
think there is no moment when the accursed crop 
begins to rear its millions of heads above ground ; 
when the rich man w^ould give his wealth to be able 
to tread them back into the earth which rejects the 
foul load ? To-da}^ you have robbed some honest 
man of a sweet companion ! 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

Look here, Mr. Murray ! 

Hugh Murray. 
To-morrow, next week, next month, you may be 
happy — but what of the time when those wild oats 
thrust their ears through the very seams of the floor 
trodden by the wife w^hose respect you will have 
learned to covet ! You may drag her into the 
crowded streets — there is the same vile growth 



THE PROFLIGATE 39 

springing up from the cliinks of the pavement ! In 
your house or in the open, the scent of the mil- 
dewed grain always in your nostrils, and in j'our 
ears no music but the wind's rustle amongst the fat 
sheaves ! And, worst of all, your wife's heart a 
granary bursting with the load of shame your prof- 
ligacy has stored there ! I warn you — Mr. Law- 
rence Ken ward ! 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

What ! Hold your tongue, man ; d n you, 

hold your tongue ! 
[Leslie runs in ivith Wilfrid and Cheal folloiving.'] 

Leslie. 
[To DuNSTAN.] Have I kept you waiting? You're 
not cross with me, Dun, dear ? 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Cross— no. But — [looking sullenly at Hugh] let 
us get on our journey. 

Leslie. 

Good-bye, Mr. Murray. [Re takes her hand.'] 
Won't you — won't you congratulate Mrs. Duustan 
Renshaw ? Do say something to me ! 

Hugh Murray. 
What can I say to you but this — God bless you, 
little school-girl, always ? 

[She joins Dunstan and goes out, followed by 
AViLERiD and Cheal. Hugh is left alone gaz- 
ing after them.] 

END OF THE FIRST ACT. 



THE SECOND ACT. 

*'THE sword of DAMOCLES." 

The scene is the Loggia of the Villa Colobiano, a 
beautiful old Florentiiie villa on tJie road to Fie- 
sole, ivith a vieio of Florence in the distance. It 
is an artidic-looJcing place, with elegant pillars 
supporting a frescoed ceiling, colored marble 
flooring, and a handsome balustrade and steps 
leading to the road and garden below, while notice- 
able on the icall of the villa, between the two en- 
trance windoivs, is a glass case protecting the 
remnants of an old cartoon. 

Weaver is gazing doicn the road thi^ough a j^aiV 
of field-glasses, and Priscilla is bringing in the 
tea things, which she proceeds to arrange on a lit- 
tle table. 

Weaver. 
Pris. 

Priscilla. 
Husli ! [Pointing towards the inner room.'] Mr. 
Wilfrid has gone right off, tired out witli his trav- 
elhng. 

Weaver. 
I'm very sorrj', but what am I to do? Here's a 
carriage, with some ladies, coming up the road ; 



THE PROFLIGATE 41 

of course they'll pull up here to look at our blessed 
cartoon. 

Priscilla. 

Well, whatever folks can see in them few smears 
and scratches to come botherin' us about, passes my 
belief. 

Weaver. 

You don't see nothing in it, of course — a country- 
bred girl. But there's a real bit of Michael Angelo 
under that glass. When he was stayin' in this 
'onse some time back he amused himself by drawing 
that with a piece of black chalk. 

Priscilla. 
Why don't he seud and fetch it away ? 

Weaver. 
It's on the wall of the villa, how can he fetch it ? 
And then again, he's dead. [^ bell rings.] I said 
so. 

Priscilla. 

Bother it ! It's sp'iled my dear little missy's hon- 
eymoon. Jest as master is stroking the back of her 
little 'and, or dear missy is a' goin' to droop her 
head on master's shoulder, in comes Weaver with 
" Somebody to look at the ' wall ! ' " Lovin' master 
as she do, why don't she wipe it off and a' done 
with it ! 

[Mrs. Stonehay's voice is heard within the 
house.] 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
There is a step there, Irene — I have already 
struck my foot. 



42 THE PROFLIGATE 

Priscilla. 
Hush ! Don't show it 'em, Weaver. 

Weaver. 
I must. The villa was let to us on condition that 
all visitors was allowed to see the Cartoon. This 
way, please. 

[He shows in Mrs. Stonehay, a ponnpous- looking 
woman ivifh an arrogant and artificial manner, 
and her daughter Irene, a handsome dark girl 
of about twenty, cold in speech and bearing^ 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
I hope we have not toiled up two flights of stairs 
for nothing. What is there to be seen here ? 

Priscilla. 
[Pointing to Wilfrid.] PleAse, ma'am, the young- 
gentleman has just travelled right through from 
England, and has fallen asleep. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Oh, indeed. This is surely not all. 

AVeaver. 
[Opening the glass case.'] Here is the cartoon, 
ma'am. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Cartoon — where ? 

Weaver. 
A allegorical design, by Michael Angelo, ma'am ; 
done when he was stayin' in this very 'ouse. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Quite interesting ! Michael Angelo. 



THE PROFLIGATE 43 

Weaver. 
Michael Angelo. 

Mrs. Stokehay. 

How superior to the cartoons in our English comic 
journals ! Irene. 

Irene. 
Yes, mamma? 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

Come here, child. [2b Weaver.] What is the sub- 
ject? 

Weaver. 

The Break of Day, ma'am. The black cloud un- 
derneath is departin' Night — the nood figure re- 
clinin' on it is Early Morning. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Ugh ! Never mind, Irene. 

Irene. 

Mamma, do you remember a girl who was at 
school at Helmstead during my last term — a little 
thing named Brudenell? 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
No— why? 

Irene. 
I am certain that the boy asleep there is the 
brother who came down every Saturday to visit her. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

Dear me! [To Priscilla.] My good girl. Is that 
young gentleman's name Brudenell ? 



44 THE PROFLIGATE 

Peiscilla. 

Yes, ma'am. It's Mr. Wilfrid, Mrs. Kensbaw's 
brother. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

Mrs. Renshaw ! Miss Brudenell is married ? 

Priscilla. 
A montli ago, ma'am. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
At home, I hope ? 

Peiscilla. 
She's with Mr. Renshaw in the garden, ma'am. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
\ Giving Priscilla a card.'] Your mistress will be 
delighted to see Mrs. Stonehay and her daughter. 
She is well and happy ? 

Priscilla. 
As happy as the day is long, ma'am. 

[Priscilla disappears down the steps.] 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Irene, this will save us the expense of tea at Fie- 
sole. [^To Weaver.] Oh, jon will find a young lady 
outside — my companion ; be good enough to tell 
her to walk on to Fiesole— we will follow in the car- 
riage. 

Irene. 
Oh, no, mamma — not walk ! The girl looks pain- 
fully delicate. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
My dear, I will not overload poor dumb animals. 



THE PROFLIGATE 45 

Weaver. 

Excuse me, ma'am, but it's a terrible up-hill walk 
to Fiesole, and the sun is very hot at this time of 
the afternoon. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

Thank you. The young lady is in my service. 

Weaver. 
Oh, I beg pardon, ma'am. [Weaver goes.'] 

Irene. 
Here she comes, mamma — little Leslie Brudeuell. 
She is quite a woman. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
I forget her entirely. We won't waste much 
time here ; we'll just ascertain their position and 
leave. 

Irene. 
Oh, mamma, will you never admit that one may 
know people out of pure liking and nothing fur- 
ther ! 

Mrs. Stc»^ehay. 
My dear, do remember my creed ! Men and 
women are sent into the world to help each other. 
Unfortunately, I can help nobody, but it is none the 
less the solemn duty of others to help me. 

[Leslie, looking very bright and happy, runs to meet 
Irene and embraces her affectionately.] 

Leslie. 
Dear Irene ! 

Irene. 
You remember me ? 



46 THE PUOFLIOATE 

Leslie. 

Remember you ! You were kind to me at Helm- 
stead. 

Irene. 

I think you saw my mother once. 

[Leslie hows to Mrs. Stonehay, and is joined by 
DuNSTAN RenshaW; wlio kcis lost kis disstpated 
look, and whose manner towards Leslie is gentle, 
watchful, and tender.'] 

Leslie. 

This is my husband. [Dunstan hows.] 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Very happy. 

Leslie. 

You will let me give you some tea ? 
Mrs. Stonehay. 

It seems barbarous to intrude upon people so 
recently married. 

DuNST4N Renshaw. 

On the contrary, Mrs. Stonehay, you may be able 
to console my wife in her first small grief. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
So soon 

Leslie. 
Dunstan is obliged to leave me for two or three 
days. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
I am just off to Rome to furnish some lodgings 
we have taken there, in the Via Sistina. Poor Les- 



THE PROFLIGATE 47 

lie was to have accompanied me, but Doctor Cold- 
stream forbids the risk of a Roman hotel. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Leaving this delightful villa ! 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Yes, the Villa Colobiano is delightful. At any 
rate Michael Angelo must have thought so at one 
time, when, in a moment of misapplied artistic ec- 
stacy, he made his mark upon our wall. 

Leslie. 

Oh, yes, we've suffered dreadfully. Dunstan 
didn't know when he took the Villa that it is hon- 
ourably mentioned in Baedeker. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

The irrepressible Tourists have made our life a 
martyrdom. With guide-book, green spectacles, 
and sun umbrella, they look for traces of Michael 
Angelo in every corner of the house. 

Leslie. 

If we're dining they almost lift up the dish-cov- 
ers. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

At first the servants hinted at a desire for seclu- 
sion on the part of a newly married couple. 

Leslie. 

That made matters worse ; they wanted to see us 
then. 



48 THE PROFLIGATE 



DUNSTAN KeNSHAW. 

Just as if we had been tatooed by Michael An- 
gelo. 

Leslie. 

[Taking Irene's hand.^ But it is such a reUef to 
see real friends. How did you discover us ? 

[Irene and Mrs. Stonehay look at each other.^ 

Irene. 

We were driving out to Fiesole — and 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

The coachman told us we ought to see Michael 
Angelo's cartoon. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Oh, of course — delighted — we're awfully 

pleased 

Leslie. 

We didn't mean that we don't like showing — the 
— cartoon — 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

"What a magnificent view you command here I 

Leslie. 

[Whispering to Dunstan.] Oh, darling, what a 
muddle ! 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

Don't fret about it, sweetheart. I must go and 
dress for my journey. You will drive with me to 
the railway station ? 



THE PROFLIGATE 49 

Leslie. 

No, no. I couldn't part from you with people 
standing by. Not that I mean to cry. 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Cry ! You must never shed tears. 

[^He kisses her fondly ivhile the others are looking 
at the view.'] 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Wh}', there's old Wilfrid, asleep. Make him help 
you with these Stonehenges. 

\_He leaves her and she wakes Wilfrid.] 

Leslie. 
Will ! Will ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Eh ! What is it ? I think I must have dropped 
off to sleep. 

Leslie. 

We've accidentally hurt some people's feelings. 
Assist me in being very nice to them. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Yes — but wait a minute. I'm not quite sure — 

where 

[She drags Wilfrid over to Mrs. Stonehay and 
Irene.] 

Leslie. 

This is my brother, Wilfrid. [^Quietly to Wil- 
frid.] Rattle on, Will dear. 



50 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 

Wilfrid, you recollect meeting Miss Stoneliay at 
Helmstead. 

WlLFKID BeUDENELL. 

[^Only half awake he seizes Mrs. Stonehay's hand.'] 
O yes, I recollect you perfectly. You left school 
some time ago, I suppose ? 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Yes — five-and-twenty years ago. 

Leslie. 

Wilfrid ! I want some more teacups. And brush 
your hair. You've made it worse ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

I'm afraid I am not quite awake. 

\_They sit at the tea-table.'] 

Irene. 
You make me feel quite old, Leslie — to see you 
so much a woman. 

Leslie. 

I am trying to be a woman, but I don't get on 
very quickly. 

Irene. 
Why try? 

Leslie. 

Because I am ashamed that my husband's wife 
should be so insiginficant. 

Irene. 
You seem very fond of him. 



THE PROFLIGATE 51 

Leslie. 

Fond of him ! Fond is a poor weak word. If I 
could realize my dearest desire I would be my bus- 
band's slave. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

All new wives who have money and many domes- 
tic servants say that. 

Leslie. 

Ah, but I would, truly. Do you know what it is 
to suffer keenly from over-kindness ? 

Irene. 

I thought that was a malady the Faculty had 
succeeded in stamping out. 

Leslie. 

I suppose it lingers yet in some odd old-world 
corners ; it is within the crumbling walls of this 
Villa, for instance. My husband is too devoted to 
me. I fear to have a wish because I know he can- 
not rest till it is gratified. If I look here, or 
there, his dear eyes imitate mine ; if I rise, he starts 
up ; if I walk on, he follows me. When he takes 
my hand he holds it as if it were a flower with a 
delicate bloom upon it ; when he speaks to me he 
lowers his voice like one whispering into some rare 
shell that would break from too much sound. And 
all for one who is half a school-girl and half a wom- 
an, and so little of either. 

[^A man is heard singing a characteristic Italian 
air to the accompaniment of a mandoline.'] 



52 THE PROFLIGATE 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
AVbat's that ? 

[Leslie runs to the balustrade and waves her 
hand.'] 

Leslie. 

That's Pietro Doiiigo, one of my husband's pro- 
teges. Dunstan wishes him to sing to me every day. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

[Sutto voce.'] Good gracious, what next ! What 
is there in this girl to be sung at ! 

Leslie. 

Dun has been very good to Pietro, who is poor, 
with an old blind mother. Oh, he is good to every- 
body — good to everybody ! 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

But, my dear Mrs. Renshaw, a wife ought not to 
be astonished at her husband's good nature in the 
early daj's of their marriage. What else did you 
expect for the first month ? 

Irene. 

Hush, mamma dear ; all Leslie means is that she 
is proud of her husband's goodness. What wife 
would not be ? 

Leslie. 

Yes, that is it — I am both proud and humble. 
Why, look ! Directly we came here he sought out 
all the poor ; in a few days the}^ have learnt to 
bless his name, and when I pray for him I think I 
hear their chant echoing me. I tell you, sometimes 



THE PROFLIGATE 53 

I hide myself away to shed tears of gratitude, and 
it's then that I think a woman's heart might be 
broken less easily by cruelty than by too much kind- 
ness! 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

[To herself.^ This girl's parade of her model hus- 
band is insufferable ; it is time I ended it. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

By the way, Mrs'. Renshaw, I hope that out of 
your vast contentment you can spare some con- 
gratulations for my daughter. 

Irene. 
No, no, mamma. 

Leslie. 
Congratulations ! 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

During our visit to Rome, Mrs. Renshaw, Irene 
has become most fortunately engaged. 

Leslie. 
[Embracing Irene.] To be married ? 

Irene. 
Yes. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

The combination of qualities possessed by Mrs. 
Renshaw's husband is rare. Nevertheless I think 
that some of the finest attributes of heart and mind 
are bestowed in an eminent degree upon Lord Dan- 
gars. 



54 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 

Dear Irene, I hope 3-011 will be — oh, you mxist be, 
Jis happy as I am. Tell me about him. Wilfrid, 
point out San Croce to Mrs. Stonehay, and — and 
show her our little garden. 
[Wilfrid escorts Mrs. Stonehay towards the gai^de^i.] 

Mrs. Stoneway. 

[To herself.'] The chit has no rank to boast about, 
at any rate. 

Leslie. 

Go on. Do make me your confidante. 

Irene. 
No, no. 

Leslie. 

Lord Dangars, your mother said. Have I the 
name correctly ? Lady Dangars ! 

Irene. 
Leslie — I — I can't talk about it. 

Leslie. 
Can't talk about your sweetheart ? 
Irene. 

Hush ! Lord Dangars is simply a man who 
wishes to marry me and whom my mother wishes 
me to marry. We are poor and she has her ambi- 
tions ; there you have two volumes of a three- vol- 
ume novel. 

Leslie. 

You don't — love him ? 



THE PROFLIGATE 55 

Irene. 
Love him ! 

Leslie. 

Then you mustn't do this. Dear, can't I help you? 

Irene. 

You help me! Child, my small corner in the 
world is hewn out of stone ; there's not a path there 
that it would not bruise your little feet to tread. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

[To Wilfrid.] I am in ecstacy ! The moment 
Lord Dan gars arrives in Florence I shall bring him 
to the Villa Colobiano. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
This is the way to the garden. 

Mrs Stonehay. 

[Watching Leslie and Irene.] I thought so. We 
shall not be patronized by Mrs. Kenshaw again. 

[Wilfrid and Mrs. Stonehay go down the gar- 
den steps. ^ 

Leslie. 

But perhaps you will learn to love Lord Dangars. 
Is he young ? 

Irene. 

Sufficiently so to escape being taken for my — 
grandfather. 

Leslie. 
Handsome ? 



56 THE PROFLIGATE 

Irene. 
There is no accepted standard for man's beauty. 

Leslie. 

Oh, be more serious. Is he a bachelor or a 
widower ? 

Irene. 
Neither. 

Leslie. 
Neither? 

Irene. 

Lord Dangars is a divorce. 

Leslie. 

A divorce ? At least, then, he deserves your pity. 

Irene. 
For what ? 

Leslie. 

For his sorrow. He must have suffered. 

Irene. 
No, it was scarcely Lord Dangars who suffered. 

Leslie. 
[Shrinking from Irene.] His wife? 

Irene. 
Yes. 

Leslie. 

And you will — marry him ! Oh ! For shame, 
Irene ! 

Irene. 
Leslie ! 



THE PROFLIGATE 67 

Leslie. 
I can't think of it ! 

Irene. 

Be silent ! I have the world upon my side — what 
is your girl's voice against the world ! I shall have 
money and a title — I shall have satisfied my mother 
at last. Why should you make it harder for me by 
even a word ? 

Leslie. 

I want to save you from sharing this man's hid- 
eous disgrace. 

Irene. 

Oh, the world has a short memory for a man's 
disgrace. It is only with women that it lays down 
scandal, as it lays down wine, to ripen and mature. 

Leslie. 

But you will not forget ; you will die under the 
burden of your husband's past. 

Irene. 

I ! oh, no ! What is a man's past to the woman 
who marries him ! 

Leslie. 

It is her pride or her shame, the jewel she w^ears 
upon her brow or the mud which clings to her 
skirts ! It is her light or her darkness ; her life or 
her death ! 

Irene. 

You're too young a wife to lecture me like this! 
The only difference between me and other w^omen 



58 THE PROFLIGATE 

will be that Lord Dangars's story is public and 
their husband's vices are unrevealed ! 

Leslie. 

That is not true ! You have no right to defend 
yourself in that way. 

Irene. 

It is true ! What woman who doesn't wish to be 
lied to, would ask her husband to unfold the record 
of his life of — liberty ? 

Leslie. 
What woman would ! / would ! 

Irene. 
Simpleton ! 

Leslie. 

A thousand times, I would ! Oh, under my dear 
husband's roof how dare you think so cruell}^ of 
good men ! 

\_She runs to Dunstan as he enters dressed for 
travelling.^ 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

[Rejoining them loith Wilfrid ] Irene, we are for- 
getting our drive to Fiesole. 

Dunstan Eenshaw. 

\To Leslie.] What's the matter ? Have I been 
away too long ? 

Leslie. 

It is always too long when you are away. 



THE PROFLIGATE 59 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Good-bye, dear Mrs. Eensliaw. 

Leslie. 
[Distantlij.l Good-bye. 

Mrs. Stonehay, 

My dear Mr. Eenshaw, everything hera is too 
charming ! 

Irene. 

[To Leslie.] Forgive me. My life has made me 
bitter. Sometimes I am nearly mad. 

Leslie. 

Come and see me again, Irene. When you know 
ni}' husband better you will realize how little your 
world has taught you. [Leslie lcii<ses Irene.] 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

Irene, I believe I can see that obstinate young 
woman sitting down in a vineyard — not a quarter of 
a mile from this house yet. There is a limit even 
to my forbearance. 

[Wilfrid, INIrs. Stonehay, and Irene go out. 
Leslie gives Dunstan a cup of tea.] 

Leslie. 
The stirrup cup. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

You will think of me in the toils of the Roman 
furniture and bric-a-brac dealers, won't you ? 



60 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 
Think of you ! 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

I shall fight through the worry of it in a couple 
of days and then — tliere will be the first home of 
our own making. Just imagine when we skip up 
the stone stairs in the Via Sistina and I throw open 

the door 

Leslie. 

Our own door ! 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Our own door — and we see our own chairs and 
tables, our own pictures, our own 

Leslie. 
Dun ! Dun, dear ? 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

This separating, even for a day or two, is a heavy- 
hearted business. 

Leslie. 

It shall always be so, dear, always. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

AVhile I'm gone you'll not forget the lame girl in 
the Via Vellutini — or Pietro's old mother ? 

Leslie. 
No, dear, no. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

And — and double the allowance to those little 
children we helped yesterday. 



THE PROFLIGATE 61 

Leslie. 

If 3'ou wish it ; but the father is working here 
now in our garden 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Never mind — double it, treble it ! I don't spend 
enough, half enough, in conscience money. 

Leslie. 
Conscience money ! 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

That is the name I give my little charities. 

Leslie. 
Do you call all charity Conscience money ? 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

No. But, Leslie, no man is good enough for a 
good woman, and so I'm trying to buy my right to 

possess you 

Leslie. 

To possess me ! Worthless me ! 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

My right to your love and — your esteem. 

Leslie. 

Oh, Dun, you are sad ! As if anything in life 
could rob you of my worship. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Nothing that could happen ? 



62 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 

Husband, what could happen ! 

[Hugh Murray enters unseen by Leslie, but Dunstan 
stares at him, as if in terror.] 

DUNST.\N EeNSHAW. 

Murray 

Hugh Murray. 

Pardon me. Wilfrid told me to 



Leslie. 

Mr. Murray ! Oh, dear Mr. Murray ! 

[She takes his hands.] 
Wilfrid. 

[Joining them.] The very last man we expected 
at the Villa Colobiano ! And, what do you think, 
Dunstan — he hasn't come to see the cartoon ! 

Leslie. 
Dunstan ! 

[Hugh aiid Dunstan look significantly at Leslie, 
and then shake hands.] 

Dunstan Kenshaw. 

As Wilfrid says, you are the last man we looked 
to see in Florence. 

Leslie. 

Bat, oh, so welcome ! 

Hugh Murray. 

You must not, I'm sorry to say, consider this the 
visit of a friend, Mr. Renshaw. 



THE PROFLIGATE 63 

Leslie. 

Have you travelled so many miles to talk only 
about Business ? 

Hugh Murray. 
Yes. 

Leslie. 

Ah, be a friend first and let the business wait. 

Hugh Murray. 

I leave here to-night, and I must speak to Mr. 
Renshaw without delay. 

Dun STAN Renshaw. 

I can give you only five minutes. Leslie. 

Leslie. 

I shall make a nosegay for my dear, and bring it 
when the five minutes are gone. [Tenderly to Dun- 
STAN.] You have made me forget there is anything 
in the world called Business. 

[She follows Wilfrid down tJie garden steps. 
DuNSTAN ivatcJies her for a moment, then faces 
Hugh. ] 

DuNSTAN Renshaw. 

Do you come here, may I ask, to take up our ac- 
quaintance at the point where it was broken a month 
ago? 

Hugh Murray. 

I regret that I must do so. 

DuNSTAN Renshaw. 
As a friend — or as an enemy ? 



64 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 

Neither — as a man who feels he has a duty to 
follow, and who will follow it. 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

What do you consider your duty ? 
Hugh Murray. 

This. There is no need to remind you of my 
knowledge of the sins of Mr. Lawrence Kenward. 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Murray ! 

Hugh Murray. 

I did not use your name. 

Dun STAN Renshaw. 

You know the poor creature who — you know her ? 

Hugh Murray. 

She came to me, in ignorance of my association 
with you, on the very day, at the very moment, of 
your marriage. 

DuNSTAN Renshaw. 
What did she want of you ? 

Hugh Murray. 
My aid in searching for her betrayer. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

Don't tell me she is the girl whom my wife and 
her brother encountered at the railway station in 
London ! 



THE PROFLIGATE 05 

Hugh Murray. 
She is the girl. 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

That's fatalit}' — fatality. 

Hugh Murray. 

Before she had been with me ten minutes, I dis- 
covered the actual identity of the man Kenward. 

DUNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

Oh! 

Hugh Murray. 

And I deliberately and dishonestly concealed my 
knowledge from her. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

For my sake ? 

Hugh Murray. 
No — for the sake of the child you had made your 
wife. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

My wife. Janet Preece can have her revenge 
now. My wife — my wife. 

Hugh Murray. 

The girl left me on your marriage morning upon 
the understanding that I would write to her. 

DuNSTAN Renshaw. 
Yes. 

Hugh Murray. 

I did write, the day following, to an address she 



60 THE PROFLIGATE 

gave me in the countrv. I wrote instructing her to 
take no steps till she heard from me a month thence. 

DUNSTAN KeXSHAW. 

That is a month ago ! 

Hugh Mueeay. 
Exactly a month ago. 

DUNST.\N ReNSHAW. 

What do you intend to do now ? 

Hugh Mueeay. 

Write to her once more, confessing that I have 
done nothing, and intend to do nothing, to aid her. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Oh, Murray ! 

Hugh Mueeay. 

Man, don't thank me ! For the sake of one poor 
creature, your wife, I have been dishonest to another 
poor creature, your broken plaything ! For one 
month I have lied for you in act and in spirit. In 
the race between you and your victim I have given 
the strong man a month's start ; to her a month of 
suspense, to 3'ou a month of thoughtless happiness. 
You have taken it, enjoyed it, steeped yourself to 
the lips in it ; and now, from this day, you play the 
game of your life without a confederate. Our paths 
divide ! 

DuNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

Murray ! Listen to me ! You are the only man 
who may have it in his j^ower to help me ! 



THE PROFLIGATE 67 

Hugh Murray. 
I have done so — for a month. 

DUNSTAN KeNSHAW. 

I don't ask 3'ou to pity the girl I have ill-used or 
the girl I have married — that you must do. But, 
wretch that I am, j^ou miglit do a greater injustice 
than to pity me. 

Hugh Murray. 

Pity you ! 

DuNSTAN E-ENSHAW. 

Murray, a month ago I married this child. Per- 
haps, then, I was really in love with her ; I hardly 
know, for loving had been to me like a tune a man 
hums for a day and can't recall a week afterwards. 
But this I do know — I have grown to love her now 
with my whole soul ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Oh! 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

I married her, as it were, in darkness ; she seemed 
to take me by the hand and to lead me out into the 
light. Murray, the companionship of this pure wom- 
an is a revelation of life to me ! I tell you there 
are times wlien she stands before me that I am like 
a man dazzled and can scarcely look at her without 
shading my eyes. But you know — because jou read 
my future — yo^L know what my existence has be- 
come ! The Past has overtaken me ! I am in 
deadly fear ! I dread the visit of a stranger, or the 
sight of strange handwriting, and in my sleep I 
dream that I am muttering into her ear the truth 



G8 THE PROFLIGATE 

against myself ! And, oh, Murray, there is one 
thing more that is the rack to me and yet a de- 
light, a paradise and yet a torment, a cnrse and yet 
a blessing — my wife — God help me I — my wife 
thinks me — Good ! 

Leslie. 

[In the garden below.'] Dunstan ! Dunstan ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Your wife ! Be quick ! Tell me — how can I 
help you ? 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
Ah, Murray ! 

Hugh Murray. 

For her sake — for her sake ! 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

The moment you reach London send for Janet 
Pi-eece — tell her the truth — entreat her to be silent. 
Tell her I will do all in my power to atone if she 
will be but silent — only silent — silent ! 

Leslie. 

[From the garden.] Dunstan ! The five minutes 
are gone. 

[Leslie runs on carrying some flowers. Wilfrid fol- 
lows, leisurely, smoking a cigarette.] 

Leslie. 

Have I come back a minute too soon? [To Dun- 
stan.] You have had bad news ; ah, don't send me 
away again ! You are troubled. 



THE PROFLIGATE 69 

DUNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

Why, of course I am troubled. 

Leslie. 
About nothing worse than leaving me ? 

DuNSTAN KeNSHAW. 

Isn't that bad enough? 

Leslie. 
[Giving him a hunch of flowers.'] For you. [To 
Hugh.] Is it unbusiness-like to give you a flower? 

Hugh Murray. 
Thank you. 

[Weaver enters dressed for travelling. 1 
Weaver. 
The carriage is at the door, sir. 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

[ With a movement of the hand towards the l.] Send 
it round to the gate. I will walk with Mrs. Ilenshaw 
through the garden. [Weaver retij^es.] 

Leslie. 

Wilfrid is here to amuse you, Mr. Murray, if I am 
poor company. Must you leave us too ? 

Hugh Murray. 

Thank you — yes. I turn my face homeward to- 
night. 

DUNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

I have something more to say to Murray. [To 
Hugh.] Will you drive down with me ? 

[Hugh assents silently.] 



TO THE PROFLIGATE 



DUNSTAN EeNSHAW. 



Leslie, when the carriage gets to that little rise 
to me \ 

Leslie. 



stand here and beckon to me till I am out of sight, 



Beckon to you ? 

DuNSTAN KeNSHAW. 

Yes, I want to remember it while we are apart as 
the last sign you made me — beckoning me to re- 
turn. [They go doivn the steps together.^ 

Hugh Murray. 

Wilfrid, don't ever tell her — your sister — that I 
asked you this. She is— quite liaj^py? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Oh, she's awfully happy. But, I say, isn't she a 
lucky girl ? 

Hugh Murray. 
Yes. Why ? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

To have the best fellow in the world for her hus- 
band. 

Hugh Murray. 

Look — they're waiting for me. Good-bye. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Good-bye. 

[He shakes hands with Hugh, who descends the 
steps,] 



THE PROFLIGATE 71 

Wilfrid Beudenell. 

No, I sha'n't assist at Dan's departure. I'm 
afraid Les will cry, and I can't bear to see a girl 
cry ; it makes me feel so dreadfully queer in the 
chest. Dun is saying good-bye to her now. Oh, 
well now, she is a brick ! She's rolled her handker- 
chief into a ball and put it in her pocket. There's 
Murray. In he gets ! Away they go ! Poor Les- 
lie's head is drooping. Confound it, she's taking 
out her handkerchief ! I can't stand it. 

[Priscilla enters, crying.'] 

Priscilla. 
Mr. Wilfrid . 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Well? Oh, now, what are you crying about? 

Priscilla. 

The young person, sir, who was with the tw^o la- 
dies who came to see our Cartoon, has been sent 
back on foot, and she's downstairs begging for a 
morsel of water ; and, oh, Mr. Wilfrid, the poor 
thing looks so weak and ill ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Ill ! Where is she ? 

\^He goes into the villa, as Leslie sloivly ascends 
the garden steps. The serenade is heard again.'] 

Leslie. 

No, Pietro mustn't sing to me while he is gone. 
My home shall never be bright and cheerful when 
its dear master is away. 



72 THE PROFLIGATE 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
\_From the house.'] Leslie ! Leslie ! 

Leslie. 
Will? 

[Wilfrid com es/ro?7i the villa with Janet Preece, who 
looks iveak, weary, and travel-stained,'] 

Leslie. 
[Taking Janet's hand.] Oli ! W^ilfrid ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

It's our little friend of the London railway sta- 
tion ! 

Janet Preece. 

No, no — I am only Mrs. Stonehay's servant — little 
better. She has threatened to send me away, be- 
cause she says I am self-willed and won't obey her. 
But I — I can't walk ; Pm not over strong. What 
shall I do ! 

[She falls hack fainting ; Wilfrid catches her in 
his arms. Leslie kneels beside her, loosening 
the strings of her bonnet.] 

Leslie. 

Oh, poor girl ! Why, she is no older than I. Ah, 
Will, she sha'n't want a shelter ! Priscilla ! Pris- 
cilla ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Priscilla ! 



THK PROFLIGATE 73 

Leslie. 
Oh ! the carriage ! 

\^She runs quickly to the balustrade and looks out 
into tJie distance.] 

Leslie. 
It's there ! [She beckons thrice.] 

Leslie. 

Dunstan — come back to me ! Come back to me ! 



END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



THE THIRD ACT. , 

THE END OF THE HONEYMOON. 

The scene is still the Renshaws' Florentine villa. Janet 
pREECE is lying upon a sofa, and Wilfrid is 
sitting on a footstool by her side reading to her. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Miss Preece — I hope 3'ou're tired of my reading. 

Janet Preece. 
Why? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Because you've heard all that Galignani has to 
remark. 

Janet Preece. 

I'm afraid I haven't heard much. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Not heard much ! oh ! 

Janet Preece. 

Not much of Galignani. I've never been read to 
before, and I only know that your kind voice has 
been rising and falling and rising and falling, and 
all for me. I didn't want to hear the words. 



THE PROFLIGATE 75 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

By Jove ! You're quite yourself this morning, 
aren't you ? 

Janet Preece. 

No — not myself. I feel so happy. But I am 
dreadfully puzzled. Tell me — have I been very ill ? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

[^Holding her hand.] Just near enough to brain fever 
to be able to say " How do you do ? " to it and go 
off in another direction. 

Janet Preece. 
Have I been ill long? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Long enough to make me — to make us desperately 
anxious. 

Janet Preece. 

How long is that ? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Three days. 

Janet Preece. 

Three days — three days. How strange to have 
lost three days out of one's life ! I seem to have died 
and to have come into a beautiful new world. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

That's a great compliment to the Villa Colobiano 
and its mistress. 

Janet Preece. 
Ah, she is the Angel of my new world ! 



76 THE PROFLIOATE 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

One angel is very little to do all the work of a 
beautiful new world. 

[Janet timidly withdraws her hajid.'] 

Janet Preece. 

Oh She has her brother to help her, of 

course. 

[Leslie enters, and Janet emJjvaces her.^ 

Leslie. 

The post brought me a letter from mj^ dear one — 
my husband — and I hid myself away to read it. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
When does Dun start for home, Les ? 

Leslie. 
I don't know ; this was wiitten the day before 

yesterday. 

Janet Preece. 

Your husband ? You — you are married ? 

Leslie. 

Married ! Ah, I forget that my poor invalid knows 
nothing about her nurse. Let me tell you. I 
mustn't blame you for not guessing it ; but I am 
that exceedingly important person, a newly-married 
lady. I am Mrs. Renshaw. 

Janet Preece. 

[Taking Leslie's hand] Mrs. — Renshaw. I shall 
say the name to myself over and over again that I 



THE PROFLIGATE 77 

may seem to have known you longer. Mrs.^ — Een- 
sliaw. 

Leslie. 

Yes, and my husband is in Kome preparing our 
first real home. You will see him soon — oh, I hope 
very soon. 

Janet Preece. 

I should like to see one who is so precious to you, 

of course — only 

Leslie. 
Only— what? 

Janet Preece. 

Only I know that when your dear companion 
comes back I shall lose you. 

Leslie. 

Hash, hush ! You mustn't distress yourself ; you 
■will be ill again. 

Janet Preece. 

I would be ill again, gladly, if I could see your 
face constantly bending over me as I have seen it for 
the last three days. Oh, Mrs. Henshaw, why have 
you been so good to me, a stranger? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

I say, Leslie, aren't Dun's letters furious about 
Mrs. Stonehay's bad behaviour ? 

Janet Preece. 

Mrs. Stonehay ! I can't go back to her ! Oh, 
dont send me back to Mrs. Stonehay ! Oh, don't, 
please don't ! 



t8 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 

No, dear, no — of course not. [To Wilfrid.] Why, 
I haven't written a word to Dun about our little vis- 
itor and Mrs. Stonehay's resentment at our shelter- 
ing her. If I had, the dear fellow would have flown 
home to fight my battles for me, and left his busi- 
ness unfinished. I know Dun. 

Janet Preece. 

Mrs. Stonehay's resentment at your giving me 
shelter! Oh, why should she be so cruel to me ! 

Leslie. 

Hush, dear — it is Mrs. Stonehay's nature to be 
jealous and arrogant. When she discovered that 
her dependent, as she called you, was installed here 
as my friend, she indignantly reproached me for en- 
ticing you from her service. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

I never saw a woman so angry. I had the honour 
of bowing her out at the front door, and she de- 
clared she shook the dust of the Villa Colobiano 
from her feet ; luckily, it was only a figure of speech, 
for her feet are very large. 

[Priscilla enters.'] 

Priscilla. 

Miss Stonehay is here, ma'am. 

[Priscilla retires.] 
Janet Preece. 

Oh, Mrs. Eenshaw! 



THE PROFLIGATE 70 

Leslie. 
Don't be alarmed, Janet. Yon don't know that 
during the last three days the face you have seen 
bending over you has often been poor Irene's. 

[Irene enters, and appeai^s agitated.^ 

Leslie. 

Irene. You are trembling — there is some trouble? 

Irene. 

[Quietly to Leslie.] Yes — I've come to tell you. 
Janet, 1 am glad to see you almost well again. Don't 
you believe me ? 

Janet Preece. 

[Shrinking from her.] Yes — I — I am better. 

Irene. 

Ah, don't be frightened of me — not of me ! Janet ! 
[Janet looks at Irene, then goes to her.] 

Irene. 
[Kissing Janet.] Thank you. \^Gimng Leslie a 
letter^ A letter, Leslie. 

Leslie. 
From your mother ? 

Irene. 
From my mother. Read it. 

Leslie. 
[As she reads.] Oh —oh ! Irene, do you guess the 
drift of this? 



80 THE PROFLIGATE 

Irene. 

Better than you do, Leslie. It is a humble apol- 
ogy from Mrs. Stonehay for her unintentional rude- 
ness upon misunderstanding the motive of Mrs. 
Renshaw's extreme kindness to poor Miss Preece. 

Leslie. 
Yes, it is an apology. 

Irene. 

Followed by an entreaty that Mrs. Renshaw will 
permit Mrs. Stonehay to call at the Villa Colobiano 
immediately to make peace in person. 

[Wilfrid and Janet go down into the garden.'] 

Leslie. 
You know the letter almost word for word. 

Irene. 
I know my mother better day by day. Leslie, 
you don't see what that means? 

Leslie. 
That your mother is sorry. 
Irene. 
No — it means that she has just heard from Lord 
Dangars that he is an old and intimate friend of 
your husband's, and that they chanced to come to- 
gether again two days ago in Rome. 

Leslie. 
1 am grieved to pain you, Irene, but I am sure 



THE PROFLIGATE 81 

that my husband can't be aware of the true charac- 
ter of Lord Daugars. 

Irene. 

Possibly not, but my mother sees that Lord Dan- 
gars may hear of her conduct through Mr. Renshaw, 
and is therefore anxious to conciliate you without 
delay. 

Leslie. 

Oh ! [She tears Mrs. Stonehay's letter into pieces^] 

Irene. 

Oh, Leslie, the meanness of my life is crushing 
me ! I can't be faithful to my mother, and yet I 
loathe myself for being a traitor to her. I seem to 
bring a worldly taint even into your home, and yet 
your home is so sweet and pure to me that I haven't 
the courage to shut myself out of it. How you must 
despise me ! 

[Weaver enters.l 

Leslie. 
Weaver ! 

Weaver. 

I beg your pardon, ma'am ; I wasn't aware you 
were engaged. 

Leslie. 

Why have you left your master in Eome ? He is 
safe — well? 

Weaver. 

Quite, ma'am. I haven't left the master in Rome ; 
we ft'ot back to Florence this mornino-. 



82 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 
He is in Florence ! 

Weaver. 

Master finished bis business in Kome a little sooner 
than he expected, and we made a rush, ma'am, for 
the night train. Getting in so very early this morn- 
ing, master thought it best to go to the Hotel de la 
Paix for an hour or two. 

Leslie. 
Thought it best to go to the Hotel de la Paix ! 
Oh, there must be some reason ! 

Weaver. 

[Handing a letter to Leslie.] The reason is, ma'am, 
that master is bringing a visitor home with him and 
didn't think it right to take you quite unprepared. 

Leslie. 
A visitor? 

Weaver. 

Yes, ma'am — Lord Dangars. 
Leslie. 
Lord Dangars here ! Oh ! Dunstan, Dunstan ! 

Irene. 

[To herself.] So soon — so soon ; so short a respite ! 

[Wilfrid and Janet come up the steps from the garden.] 

Leslie. 

[To herself as she reads the letter.] Ah, I knew it ! 
My poor Dun, to be victimized by such a companion- 



THE PROFLIGATE S3 

ship. I quite understand, Weaver. Mr. Eenshaw 
will be here almost directly ? 

Weaver. 

He and his lordship were at breakfast when I left, 
ma'am ; in less than half-an-hour, I should say. 

Leslie. 
Tell the servants. [Weaver goes out.^ 

Irene. 

Leslie, the thought that you are to be thrown into 
the society of this man is unendurable to me. 

Leslie. 

And yet you are speaking of the man you are go- 
ing to marry. 

Irene. 

Certainly, but by my marriage I hope to lose 
much of his society. But you — oh, your husband 
is to blame, to blame ! 

Leslie. 

Hush, Irene ! You do Mr. Kenshaw an injustice. 
Look. [She handa Irene Dunstan's letter.'] 

Leslie. 

Will, Dun has come back ! Janet, be glad for my 
sake ! 

Irene. 

[Reading the letter.'] ''Dear One. Weaver will 
explain my mode of arrival. Dangars I once knew 
fairly well and somehow he won't be shaken off now. 
As there appears to be an engagement between him 
and your friend Miss Stonehay I have asked him 



84 THE PROFLIGATE 

to be our guest for a couple of days, thinking you 
may consider it a kindness to her ; but please don't 
extend the term, as he is not quite the man I wish 
my wife to count among her acquaintances." 

[Janet and Wilfrid iitroll off^ 

Leslie. 

\To herself.'] My husband home again — home 
again — home again ! But, oh, why hasn't he come 
back to me alone ! 

Irene. 

Leslie, I perceive I have done Mr. Rensliaw an 
injustice. But surely you had some further motive 
in sharing with me the privilege of enjoying Mr. 
Eenshaw's estimate of the gentleman who is to be 
my husband ? 

Leslie. 

Yes, I had. I will convince you of the contempt 
in which honest men hold such as Lord Dangars. 

Irene. 

[Crushing the letter in her hand.] Thank you — 
I Leslie ! you are right — save me — save me ! 

Leslie. 

Irene ! 

Irene. 

I knew that my next meeting with Lord Dangars 
could not be long delayed, and I taught myself to 
think of it coldly and callously. But, now that the 
moment has come, and I am to lay my hand in his 
and look him in the face — a woman willing to sell 
herself — every nerve in my body is on fire with the 
shame of it and I can't, I can't fall so utterly ! 



THE PROFLIGATE 85 

Leslie. 

Dear Irene, I knew I should save you ! 

Irene. 

Ah, but can j^ou? I am such a coward ; I haven't 
the courage of your good instincts. If you don't 
help me I shall falter and be lost ! 

Leslie. 

But I can help you. / will make an appeal to 
your mother. 

Irene. 

That's hopeless, ho]3eless ! 

Leslie. 

Then I will face Lord Dangars himself. 

Irene. 
You! 

Leslie. 

Yes, with my husband. Ah, Irene, there are good 
men still to fight the battles of weak women, and I 
promise you my dear husband's aid. 

[Wilfrid and Janet re-appear ^ talking earnestly.^ 

Irene. 
Hush! 

Leslie. 

[Quietly to Irene.] Hush ! Go back to your mother 
and tell her I Avill see her in answer to her letter. 

[Leslie and Irene go into the villa.] 



8G THE PROFLIGATE 

Janet Preece. 

No, no, please, don't speak to me like that! I 
mustn't listen to you, indeed I mustn't. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

I never tliouglit I should hurt 3'ou by what I've 
said. What I was foolish enough to think was — 
that perhaps you — didn't dislike me. 

Janet Preece. 

Dislike j^ou! Why, there's no book in the world 
that's long enough, and no poetry ever written that's 
sweet enough, to match what I think, but can't say, 
in gratitude to you and Mrs. Reushaw. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Ah, we don't want j^ou to thank us, Janet — unless 
it's by a tinge of colour in your white face. You" 
make me feel how mean I've been to ask for your 
love. 

Janet Preece. 

Oh, stop, stop ! I can't bear you to say such a 
thing. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

I've no right to press you for the reason you can't 
love me. 

Janet Preece. 

No, no — don't, don't ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
I can only guess what's in your mind. Is it that 
we're such new friends to talk of love and marriage ? 
because, Janet, if we know each other for years I 



THE PnOFLIGATE 87 

can never alter the truth, that it took only a minute 
to fall in love with you. 

Janet Preece. 

No, it isn't that you're a new friend ; for the mat- 
ter o' that, after Mrs. Eenshaw, you're my only 
friend. It isn't that — it isn't that. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Then, if we're your only friends, at least I know 
that you don't love any other 

Janet Preece. 
[Slarting up and hiding her face from him.^ Any 
other ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Any other — man. 

Janet Preece. 
No — no . I don't — I don't love any other man. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
And yet you can't love me. I'm answered. Ah, 
Janet, a man who isn't loved had better never seek 
the reason, or if he does he should look for it — in 
himself. My brother-in-law will be home in a few 
minutes and I can very well be spared here. So 
there's one thing I beg of you, that you won't let 
this — stupidity of mine shorten your stay at the 
Villa Colobiano. 

Janet Preece. 
[Bursting into tears.] I can't bear it ! My heart 
will break ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
You seemed in bitter trouble when we first met; 



88 THE PROFLIGATE 

don't leave us till we have helped to make life easi- 
er for you. 

Janet Pkeece. 
Oh, if we never had met — if we never had met ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Why, I've done nothing but love you, Janet. 
Come, you're not cruel enough to wish you had 
never seen me? 

Janet Preece. 

Ah, no ! No ! Believe me, the only happiness 
for such as I is in such wretchedness as this. Bid 
me good-bye — I am going. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
No! 

Janet Preece. 

Let me steal away quietly. Tell your sister that 
I pray God to bless her, her husband, and her chil- 
dren when they come to make her life perfect ; say 
I am only a poor creature never worth the love I've 
stolen from you both, but that my thoughts will be 
only of you and her till I die. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

No, you must not leave the house till you have 
seen Leslie. 

Janet Preece. 

Don't keep me here ! If I see her again I must 
tell her why I run away from the one sweet pros- 
pect my life has given me ! 



THE PROFLIGATE 89 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
You do love me then ! You do love me ! 

[He draws her to him, hut she breaks away loith a low 
cry as Leslie entei^s.] 

Janet Preece. 
Let me go ! let me go ! 

Leslie, 
Janet ! 

Janet Preece. 

[To Leslie in a low whisper.] Mrs. Rensliaw! 
You don't know what a base, wicked girl you are 
sheltering ! I'm not fit to be in your house ! Oh, 
I'll tell you— I'll tell you ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Leslie, there have been no secrets between us 
ever, and there's a promise that there never shall be 
any. 

Leslie. 
Will? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
I — I have told Janet that I love her, and I have 
asked her to be my wife. But Janet is in some dis- 
tress and wishes to leave us. So, Les, I want you 
to do me a service. 

Leslie. 

AVhat service, brother dear ? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

I want you to help her — and me. 

[He leaves them together.] 



90 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 
Janet ! Janet Preece. I iove my brother very 
clearly, and long ago I determined that the moment 
his heart went out to a good girl I would call her 
my sister without a murmur. But you have said 
something to me which has — frightened me. Oh, 
Janet, what is it that's wrong — what is it that's 
wrong ? [Janet kneels humbly at Leslie's /et^^] 

Leslie. 
Why do you kneel, Janet ? 

Janet Peeece. 
Because it's my place in the world for evermore ; 
because I'm of no more worth than the clod of eartli 
3'ou turn aside with your foot ; because the time 
has been when I was one of the tempted and not 
one of the strong, 

Leslie. 

[Turning away.] Oh, Janet, Janet. 

Janet Preece. 
When I found that your brother loved me I 
Avanted to run away without the dreadful shame of 
confessing the truth to you. But I'm a little hap- 
pier for having told you, and I'll go out of your 
house now quickly and quietly and you'll never see 
me nor hear of me again. [Kiasing the edge of Les- 
lie's dress.] Good-We — my dear. Good-bye, oh 
my dear, my dear. [She I'ises, and is about to go.] 

Leslie. 
No, no ! Stop ! What you have told me seems 
to have stunned me. I — I can't realize it yet. 



THE PROFLIGATE 91 

Janet Preece. 

Don't try to — it's better you should never realize 
it. 

Leslie. 

A few minutes ago you and I were like simple 
girls ; now we have suddenly become sad grown 
women. Will — my poor Will ! What shall I do? 

Janet Preece. 
Nothing but let me go. 

Leslie. 

Let you go ! You have come into my life now 
and your weakness and loneliness make it my task 
to protect you. Put on your hat — quickly. 

[Janet lieaitates^ 
Leslie. 

Quickly ! Throw that shawl over your shoulders. 
[Janet obediently puts on the hat and sJiaivl. 
Leslie begins writing Juirriedly at the table.^ 

Leslie. 

You mustn't re-enter this house ; you and my 
brother must never meet again. My poor brother ! 
I am going to send you to a friend who will gladly 
render me a service. This afternoon I will come to 
you. "The Villa Lotta, Viale dei Colli." Are you 
ready ? 

Janet Pkeece. 
Yes. 



92 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 

Present this — and here, here is some money. 
Come, we will go through the garden. 

[They go together to the garden steps. Suddenly 
Janet utters a cry of horror.'] 

Leslie. 
Janet ! 

Janet Preece. 

[Dragging Leslie.] Come away — come av/ay ! 
Look there ! Look there ! 

Leslie. 

[Looking into the garden.] My husband and 
Lord Dan gars. 

Janet Preece. 
It's the man — the man ! 

Leslie. 
The man ! Lord Dan gars ! 

Janet Preece. 
He lied to me ; I have never known his true name 
till now. That's the man who called himself Law- 
rence Ken ward. 

Leslie. 
Great Heavens ! They are coming this way into 
the house. 

Janet Preece. 
Ah, hide me, hide me ! I haven't the courage to 
meet him. Ah, hide me ! 

[She staggers to the sofa and sinks down beside 
it.] 



THE PROF TAG ATE 93 

Leslie. 
Janet ! 

[Leslie crouches down by Janet and puts her 
arms round her protectingly , as Dunstan Ren- 
SHAW and Lord Dangars ascend the steps. ^ 

Lord Dangars. 

Phew ! I'm smothered with dust ; you would 
walk. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

I'm very sorry. Shall we restore the perfection 
of our appearance before looking for Mrs. Ren- 
shaw ? \_Theij go into the villa.\ 

Leslie. 
Janet ! Do you know that this is the man to 
whom Irene Stoiiehay is engaged to be married ? 

Janet Preece. 
I — I've heard them speak of him ; I never sus- 
pected who he was. Heaven pity her ! He'll kill 
her, body and soul. 

Leslie. 
No, no. It is you who must help me to save her. 

Janet Preece. 
I! 

Leslie. 
You must. If you do your utmost to rescue this 
weak woman from the dreadful life that is before 
her you'll do something to make you happier in the 
future. 

Janet Preece. 
What can I do ! I couldn't shame him. 



94 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 

But 3^ou could shame her mother — you could 
quench the last sjDark of irresolutiou iu this poor 
girl's mind. 

Janet Preece. 

They wouldn't believe me ; why should they ? 
Leslie. 

Then, if they doubt you, will you face this miser- 
able libertine before their eyes ? 

Janet Preece. 

Ah, no, no !• For months I've been seeking him 
to beg him to make reparation to me, but now that 
I've found him I want to jDut miles between us, for 
I feel I'd rather go down to my grave what I am 
than live what he could make me ! 

[Priscilla enters.'] 

Priscilla. 

Mrs. Stonehay and Miss Stonehay are here, 
ma'am. 

Janet Preece. 
Oh! 

Leslie. 
I'll see them. [Priscilla retires.'] 

Janet Preece. 
Let me go — give me leave to go. 

Leslie. 
You are free to go, Janet — go. But you are go- 
ing from your duty. 



THE PROFLIGATE 95 

Janet Peeece. 

My duty — my duty. If he came to hear of it, 
would he think a little better of me for it ? 

Leslie. 
He? 

Janet Preece. 

Wilfrid — your brother. 

Leslie. 
I think he would. 

Janet Preece. 
I'll stay. I'll try and do my duty. 

\She sinks upon the sofa as Mrs. Stonehay and Irene 
enler. Mrs. Stonehay advances to Leslie ivith 
outstretched hands.] 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
My dear Mrs. Renshaw ! 

Leslie. 
[Coldly.] Mrs. Stonehay. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Dear child, what can I say to you in reference to 
our — misunderstanding, shall I call it ? 

Leslie. 
Say nothing, please, nothing. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

We will say nothing. The passing ill-humours of 

a crochetty but not unamiable old woman are best 

forgotten. Ah, my dear, remember I am about to 

lose my daughter. But I have yet to make my 



96 THE PROFLIGATE 

peace with onr little friend here. You have been 
indisposed, my poor Janet ? Let it be a lesson to 
you — never mistake firmness for unkindness. Don't 
stand, in your weak state. 

[Janet sinks hack upon the sofa.'] 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

I am positively in ecstacies, dear Mrs. Renshaw, 
to learn that Lord Dangars is to be a guest at the 
Villa Colobiano. 

Leslie. 

To my surprise I find that my husband and this 
gentleman are acquainted. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 

Are old and close friends. And you weren't 
aware of it ! Delightful ! 

Leslie. 
I say again I am surprised. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Naturally. You will like Dangars. H^ has suf- 
fered, poor fellow, but he has come out of the fur- 
nace a very refined metal. 

Leslie. 
My husband — knowing Lord Dangars, I venture 
to think, but slightly — has indeed invited him to 
this house. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Charming ! It brings us all so closely together. 
"Will Lord Dangars, may I ask, remain with you 
very long ? 



THE PROFLIGATE 97 

Leslie. 
No. 

Mes, Stonehay. 
No? 

Leslie. 

Because, Mrs. Stonelmy, I cannot, I regret to say, 
consent to receive Lord Dangars. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
I confess I don't understand. Your husband's 

friend 

Leslie. 
No, Mrs. Stonehay ; my husband has only to 
know Lord Dangars as thoroughly as I do to con- 
sider him an unfit companion for any reputable man 
or woman. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Do you forget that you are speaking of one who 
is to be my daughter's husband ? Irene ! are you 
dumb? 

[Leslie tiu^ns to Irene, who is sitting with her 
liead bowed and her hands clasped.'^ 

Leslie. 
Irene. Irene. 

[Irene rises, supporting herself by the tdblei] 

Irene. 
Mother — don't ask me to marry Lord Dangars ! 
Oh, don't make me do that — don't make me do 
that ! 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Oh, I see — I quite see. [To Leslie.] How dare 
you tamper with my daughter — how dare you? 



98 THE PROFLIGATE 

[To Irene.] We will go home. You shall never 
enter this house agaiu ; our acquaintance with this 
ladj has terminated. 

Leslie. 
Irene ! 

Mes. Stonehay. 

What ! Do you think by your mock-morality to 
upset my calculations for Irene's welfare ? If so, 
you can have this satisfaction for your pains — that 
one word, one look, from me will do more with this 
weak, ungrateful girl than a month of your impu- 
dent meddling. Good morning. 

[Mrs. Stonehay and Irene are going. ^ 

Leslie. 
Irene . 

Irene. 
I — I told you I was a coward. Good-bye. 

Leslie. 
Oh, Irene! 

Irene. 

You have done your utmost to save me ! 

Leslie. 
No ! I have not yet done my utmost. Janet ! 
Janet ! 

[Janet rises from the sofa with an effort^ and 
Leslie takes her by the hand.] 

Leslie. 
Look here ! This poor child is a living sacrifice 
to a man whose history is a horrible chapter of dis- 
honour. He is a man who preys upon the weak un- 



THE PROFLIGATE 99 

der the mask of a false name ; wlio stabs but has 
not the mercy to kill ; and who leaves his victims to 
bleed to death in.'^heir hearts, slowly but surely. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
I always feared this was a worthless girl. But 
pray, what has her depravity to do with us ? 

Leslie. 
Only this. Janet has just discovered the where- 
abouts of the man she has been seeking. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Really this is no concern of ours. 

Leslie. 
There you are mistaken, Mrs. Stonehay. 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Mistaken ? 

Leslie. 
Yes. Because, if this man were willing to atone 
to Janet Preece by marrying her, he could not fulfil 
his engagement to your daughter. 

Irene. 
Oh! 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
This is an infamous fabrication ! 

Leslie. 
ITo Janet.] Is it the truth? 

Janet Preece. 
It is — the truth. 

[Janet sinks hack upon the sofa burying her face 
in the pillows.'] 



100 THE PROFLIGATE 

Irene. 
Oh, Leslie ! 

Mrs. Stonehay. ' 

A gill of that character lives upon her lying ro- 
mances, and the woman who harbours such a creat- 
ure becomes a partner and not a protector. [2b 
Irene. ] Come — do you hear me ! 

Irene. 
No, no ! Leslie ! 

Leslie. 
Dunstan ! 

[DuNSTAN Renshaw aiid Lord Dangars enter. ^ 

Dunstan Renshaw. 

[Tenderly.'] Leslie. 

\He bows to Mrs. Stonehay and Irene.] 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
Leslie, dear, let me introduce Lord Dangars to 
you. 

[Janet 7mses her head luith a startled look of hor- 
7^or. ] 

Lord Dangars. 
[Offering his hand.'] Mrs. Renshaw, I 

Leslie. 
No, Dunstan ; forgive me — I cannot make the ac- 
quaintance of Lord Dangars. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
[In an undertone.] Leslie ! 
Leslie. 
If Lord Dangars wishes for an explanation, Dun- 



THE PROFLIGATE 101 

stan, I have only to recall to him the existence of 
this unhappy girl whose story is known to me. 

\_She re\)eaU Janet.] 
Janet Pkeece. 
No, no ! 

Leslie. 
Janet Preece. 

[DuNSTAN atares at Janet helplessly and horror- 
stricken.'] 

Lord Dangars. 

I should not be so impolite as to disturb Mrs. 
Renshaw's prejudices against me were they found- 
ed upon less illusory evidence. But I can assure 
Mrs. Renshaw that I believe I have never seen this 
young lady until the present moment. 

[Leslie looks aghast at Janet.] 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Janet, do you say you know Lord Dangars? 

Janet Preece. 
No, no ! It's not he I know ! It is a mistake — 



Mrs. Stonehay. 
A mistake ! 

Janet Preece. 
Ah ! Let me go ! let me go ! 

[Leslie grasps her by the arm.'] 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Girl, do you mean that you know Mr. Benshaw? 
[Dangars and Leslie turn to Dunstan, who is 
staring blankly before him with his hands 
clenched.] 



102 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 

Janet ! Janet ! \As the truth dawns upon her.'] 
Oh! 

Janet Pkeece. 

Ah ! ¥7hat have I clone to you ! I'd have died 
to save vou this. God forgive me ! I'm not fit to 
live! Kill me! Kill me ! Ah! 

[ She rushes down the garden steps, past Leslie, 
ivho is as one turned to stone.^ 

Mks. Stonehay. 

Lord Dangars, may I trespass upon your good 
nature so far as to beg your escort home ? Poor 
Irene is naturally much distressed. 

Lord Dangars. 
\Loohing from Dunstan to Leslie.] This is per- 
haps not the time to express regrets 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Regrets ! Regrets that the character of an hon- 
ourable man is cleared from a gross and vindictive 
slander ! It is not from us that regrets should 
come. I am ready. 

Irene. 
[Weeping.] Leslie — Leslie I 

[She takes Leslie's hand and kisses it.] 
pLiESLiE stands, luith staring eyes, immovable.] 

Mrs. Stonehay. 
Irene, give your arm to Lord Dangars. 

[Irene (/iues her arm helplessly to Dangars. Mrs. 
Stonehay shrugs her shoulders and goes out, 
folloived by Dangars with Irene.] 



THE PROFLIGATE 103 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

\_In a hollow, changed voice.'] Leslie— Leslie ! yiTe 
staggers towards her.] You hate me — you hate me. 
\^He looks into her face.] How you hate me ! 

Leslie. 
[Speaking IV ith great effort.] Deny it — deny it. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 



Deny it ! 
Deny it. 



Leslie. 



DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 



I — I — Ah, God ! I'm guilty ! I'm guilty ! I'm 
guilty ! Don't ask me to tell you the story of my 
life — I can't — I can't. It's one of sin — all sin. Till 
I met you — till I met 3'ou. Can you hear me? 

[She nods her head twice, still with the wdd dazed 
look in her face.] 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Then everything altered. I love you — I love you ! 
In all the world there is nothing for me but you — 
you make my day or my night by the opening or 
the closing of your eyes. There is nothing for me 
but you ! I worship you ! 

[7%eman is heard again singing to the mandoline. 
Leslie shudders and tries to (70.] 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Don't leave me ! You won't leave me ! I can't 
live away from you. Have mercy on me ! Have 
mercy on me ! Mercy ! [He kneels to her.] 



104 THE PROFLIGATE 

DUNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

I repent ! Help me to begin a new life ! I'm 
young- ; I won't die till I've made amends. I won't 
die till I've done some good act to make you proud 
of me ! Ob, give me hope ! 

Leslie. 
\_As if in a dream.'] Deny it ! 

DUSTAN ReNSHAW. 

I'm guilty — you know it ! Have mercy ! Give 
me a faint hope ! A year hence you'll pardon me ? 
Two years — ten ? A little hope — only a little hope ! 

Leslie. 
Deny it. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

I can't deny it ! 

Leslie. 
Go! 

\^IIe is stunned, and goes quietly away, as she 
falls to the ground in a swoon ; then the sere- 
nade is heard again.'] 



END OF THE THIRD ACT. 



THE FOURTH ACT. 

"the beginning of a new life." 

The scene is Hugh Murray's private sitting-room in 
an old-fashioned Holborn hotel, comfortably and 
solidly furnished, hut with an antiquated look about 
the place. It is evening, the lamps are lighted and 
the fire is burning. Hugh is playing a plaintive 
melody upon the piano, and watching Leslie, 
who sits with a listless air. 

Leslie. 
Mr. Murray. 

Hugh Murray. 
Yes? 

Leslie. 
Wilfrid is very late. 

Hugh Murray. 

He will be back soon. 

Leslie. 

With the worn, hopeless look upon his face which 
makes my heart ache so. Do you guess why the 
poor boy is out and about from morning till night ? 

Hugh Murray. 
Do I guess ? 



106 THE PROFLIGATE 

Leslie. 

Ah, you do guess. You know that my brother is 
searching for Janet Preece. 

Hugh Murray. 

Something of the kind has crossed my mind. 
Why does he look for her here ? 

Leslie. 
He ascertained that she left Florence before we 
hurried out of that dreadful city ; but she has not 
returned to her home in the country, and so he 
prays that the whirlpool has drawn her to London 
again and that he may find her. 

Hugh Murray. 
Does he confide in you ? 

Leslie. 
No, poor fellow — but I know, I know, I know. 
Oh, it's horrible that he can't forget her — horrible ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Hush ! you must try not to think. 

Leslie. 
I do try — I do try. How long have my brother 
and I been here ? I can't reckon. 

Hugh Murray. 
You left Florence ten days ago ; you've been 
sharing an old bachelor's solitude almost a week. 

Leslie. 
Dear friend, your solitude must be far better than 
such dismal company. 



THE PROFLIGATE 107 

Hugh Murray. 
Better ! No. 

Leslie. 
Ah, yes. I wanted Wilfrid to be with me when I 
told you — but, I leave you early to-morrow. 

Hugh Mukr.\y. 
To-morrow ! 

Leslie. 

Yes. I've written to my old schoolmistress at 
Helmstead begging her to take me again — not to 
learn ; I've nothing more to learn ! But I want to 
sit amongst the gii-ls again, to walk with them, and 
to run down to the brook with my hands in theirs 
as I did — only six weeks ago. Only six weeks ago. 

Hugh Murray. 
And Wilfrid ? 

Leslie. 
Wilfrid has promised to visit me very often, as he 
used to. So everything will be as it was — just as it 
was. 

Hugh Murray. 
I knew you could not remain in this dreary hotel, 
but still — why so suddenly ? 

Leslie. 
Because I've been thinking that iihe should try to 
see me— -you know whom I mean? 

Hugh Murray. 
Yes. 

Leslie. 
If he should try to see me again it is to you he 
would first come to ascertain my whereabouts. 



108 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murray. 
And surely you would grant bim an interview ? 

Leslie. 
Not yet ! I'm not cruel — I used not to be cruel 
— only I'm not ready to meet him yet. 

Hugh Murray. 
When will you be prepared to meet him ? 

Leslie. 
How can I tell? I am like a dead woman dream- 
ing after death. "What good would it do him to look 
upon a soulless woman ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Is there no hope left for him ? 

Leslie. 
Yes, a Miracle — when there is hope for me. 
[Wilfrid enters, looking very weary and careworn^ 

Leslie. 
Wilfrid dear. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Well, Les. [He kisses her listlessly.^ 

Hugh Murray. 
You look fagged, my boy. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Hallo, Murray. I am a bit done to-night. 

Hugh Murray. 
Walking ? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Flying like a blind bat, from one quarter of Lon- 



THE PROFLIGATE 109 

don to another. I've got some business in band and 
no one will do more than gape or laugh at a fellow 
when he's in terrible earnest. This cursed city ! It 
soaks up the poor and the helpless like a sponge ; 
but I'll wring it dry yet — you'll see if I don't — 

you'll see 

[He hoists the arm-chair round and sits facing the 
fire.] 

Leslie. 

I told you so — he is searching for her. 

Hugh IMurray. 
Yes. 

Leslie. 

What should I do if he found her ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Nothing. Leave everything to chance. 

Leslie. 
Chance ! 

Hugh IMurray. 
Chance is a fairer arbiter of our lives than we 
imagine. You are terribly ill. [She shakes her head.] 
I have written into the country for some fruit for 
you ; it should have arrived by this time, with this 
morning's bloom on it. I'll go and enquire. 

[She offers her hand, ivhich he merely touches.] 

Hugh Murray. 
Poor Will's fast asleep. [He goes out.] 

Leslie. 
[Bending over AVilfrid.] Tired to death. Will, 
my dear brother, you are the only one left me now 



110 THE PROFLIGATE 

and you are drifting away from me. Your heart is 
no longer mine and your thoughts are no longer 
mine. It's so hard to lose husband and brother at 
once ! Come back to me — come back to me ! 

[Janet, looking very j^oor and ill, appears at the door. '\ 

Leslie. 
Oh ! Janet ! 

Janet Preece. 
Mrs. Renshaw. 

Leslie. 

How do you come here ? 

Janet Preece. 

I've been keeping near you since you left Flor- 
ence. Days ago I found out you were here, through 
watching your brother and Mr. Murray. If I'd sent 
my name up to you you'd have refused to see me, 
so I've been waiting my opportunity to steal into 
the hotel while the porter was absent. Don't turn 
me away till you've heard me ! 

Leslie. 
Sit down, while I think for a moment. 

Janet Preece. 
Thank 3'ou. 

Leslie. 
[Jo herself, looMyig at the arm-chair in which Wil- 
frid is sleeping concealed from view.] Chance has 
brought them together again and Mr. IMurray says 
that chance is a just arbiter. I'll neither unite 
them nor keep them apart. Chance shall do every- 
thing for me. Well? Speak low, please. 



THE PROFLIGATE 111 

Janet Preece. 
\_Pointing to door.] Your brother is not in there ? 

Leslie. 
No. What do you want of me ? 

Janet Preece. 
To tell you this. I'm. going out to Australia in 
company with some poor farming people from down 
near home ; I met them by chance here in London 
and it's settled. We sail from Plymouth the day 
after to-morrow, and there's an end o' me. 

Leslie. 
Can I— do anything — to help you ? 

Janet Preece. 
Oh, no, no. But before I go I've got to ease my 
mind of something that you must listen to. It's 
this. I've parted you from your husband. Haven't 
I? Haven't I? 

Leslie. 
Yes. 

Janet Preece. 

Well, then, its only just to him that you should 
know this. It's /that tempted him, not he that led 
me on ; and I've lied to you in letting you think the 
man was to blame instead of the woman. I'm worth- 
less, part of the rubbish of the world, and was so 
before I met him, and he's a better man than you 
think for. There ! 

Leslie. 

Janet, do you think I don't see through the false- 
hood you're telling me ? 



112 THE PROFLIGATE 

Janet Preece. 
The falsehood ! 

Leslie, 

You're trying to heal my sorrow with a fable. 
It's useless ; I have heard the truth from my hus- 
band's lips. 

Janet Preece. 

Ah, then, in pity for me, take him back ! Don't 
let me go to my grave knowing that I've ruined your 
life for you. Try to blame me more ! Try to blame 
me more ! [Wilfrid stirs in his sleep.^ 

Leslie. 
Hush: 

Janet Preece. 

We're not alone ! 

Leslie. 
My brother. 

Janet Preece. 

[In a whis'per.] He has not heard me. I'll go. 

Leslie. 

Janet, I'll not keep the truth from you ! W^ilfrid 
loves you still. 

Janet Preece. 
Oh, no ! 

Leslie. 

He has been searching for you for days past, and 
he is there now worn with trouble and anxiety for 
you. 

Janet Preece. 

Oh, don't tell me ! don't tell me ! 



THE PROFLIGATE 113 

Leslie. 

It would be a reproach to me if I let you go in 
ignorance ; and now, Janet, I — I leave the rest to 
you. 

Janet Preece. 

God bless you for the trust you place in me ! 
You needn't fear me. Good-bye. 

Leslie. 
[^Embracing her.^ My dear brave sister ! I am so 
perplexed. We are both in trouble — both in trouble. 

Janet Peeece. 
In years to come, when I am only a mere speck 
in his life, you'll tell him, won't you ? 

Leslie. 
Yes, yes. 

Janet Pkeece. 

You'll let me look at his face once more, for the 
last time ? [Leslie nods her /imr/.] 

Janet Peeece. 

[Looking at Wilfeid.] Good-bj^e. [To Leslie.] 
He need never know. 

[She sloioly bends over Wilfeid and kisses him 
upon the forehead. As she draws back behind 
the chair Wilfeid opens his eyes and sees Leslie 
standing before him.'] 

Wilfeid Beudenell. 
Leslie dear. I was dreaming and you woke me 
with your kiss. [Janet steals out.] What's that? 

[Hugh enters^ carrying a basket of fruity 



114 THE PROFLIGATE 

WlLFKED BrUDENELL. 

Oh, it's Murray. 

Leslie. 

[In an undertone to Hugh.] Lend me some money 
— some money. Bv-and-by I'll tell you why I want 
it. 

Hugh Murray. 

[To Leslie.] Gold or notes ? 

Leslie. 
Either — both. 

[He hands her some money from a cabinet^ and 
she goes out.^ 

Hugh Murray. 



Wilfrid. 

Yes? 



Wilfrid Brudenell. 



Hugh IMurray. 
Quick, man ; before your sister returns ! I must 
tell you. Eenshaw is coming here to-night. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Eenshaw ! 

Hugh Murray. 
I received this note from him five minutes ago— a 
few lines telling me he has returned to England and 
entreating me to see him to-night. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
You'll not meet him ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Why not ? The man is suffering ; I can read that 
in his handwriting. 



THE PROFLIGATE 115 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

Suffering ! Let him taste such suffering as he has 
dealt out to others. Is my sister not suffering ? Is 
Janet Preece not suffering ? Am I not suffering? 

Hugh Murray. 

Wilfrid, my boy, Wilfrid ; there's something bet- 
ter to do than to be revenged. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
How easy it is, Murray, for an onlooker to be 
charitable ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Hush, my boy ! Don't you see that there is no 
future for her except one of reconciliation with her 
husband ? 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Beconciliation ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Her ideal is destroyed, her illusions are gone, but 
time will send Eenshaw's sins further and further 
into the distance, and habit will teach her never to 
look back. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Murray, you don't know ! You argue like a law- 
yer who has to patch up a mere wrangle between 
husband and wife. 

Hugh Murray. 
I don't know ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
You don't know what it is to have the heart 
plucked out of you and trampled upon ! 



116 THE PB OF LI GATE 

Hugh Murray. 

Wilfrid, be silert ! 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 

How can 3-011, living your level, humdrum life, 
gauge the penalty paid by those who love what is 
worth so much and yet so little ! Ah, Murray, wait 
till you love and lose, as we have lost ! 

Hugh Murray. 
Wait ! [Leslie enters unnoticed,^ Wait ! Do you 
think you can read me a lesson in despair? Come 
to me when your boy's passion has grown cold and 
I'll describe to you the agony of a Man's hungry, 
hopeless, endless devotion. 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Murray ! 

Hugh Murray. 
I love your sister ! I have loved her from the 
moment I first saw her in the school-garden at 
Helmstead ; but I loved her too reverently to dis- 
turb the simplicity of her childhood, and I waited. 
I waited ! Waited for him to scorch into her cheeks 
the first flame of consciousness — waited for her to 
make him her idol — waited for him to break her 
heart ! Waited for this ! 

[He sits with his/ace buried in his hands.] 

Wilfrid Brudenell. 
Murray — forgive me. I never thought of this. If 
we could have been brothers ! 

Hugh ^Murray. 
Sssh ! It is always as it is now, Will Women 



THE PROFLIGATE 117 



love men whose natures are like bright colours — the 
homesiDun of life repels them. They delight to 
hear their fate in the cadences of a musical voice, 
thinking they are listening to an impromptu ; it's 
too late when they learn that the melody has been 
composed by Experience and scored by other 
women's tears. [Leslie r-e veals herself.] 

WiLFKID BrUDENELL. 

My sister ! 

Hugh Murray. 

Mrs. Renshaw ! I fear — you have heard. 

Leslie. 
Yes. 

Hugh Murray. 

I never meant you to know ; I meant to cany it 
with me silently and patiently. The sorrow is mine 
— mine only. 

Leslie. 

I — I can say nothing— nothing. Good-night. 
We will not meet to-morrow — I shall be gone early. 

Hugh Murray. 
Good-night. 

, Leslie. 

I shall never cease to pray for your good fortune. 
God bless you, Mr. Murray ! 

[Leslie gives Hugh he7' hand, then she and Wil- 
frid go out together. There is a knock at the 
door. A servant brings Hugh a ca7'd.'] 

Hugh Murray. 
Yes? — ^yes. [The servant goes out.] 



118 THE PROFLIGATE 

Hugh Murkay. 
Eenshaw. 

[TJie servant ushers in Dunstan Eenshaw, who looks 
broken and walks feebly,'] 

DuNSTAN Eenshaw. 
Speak to me, Murray. 

Hugh Mueray. 
You look ill. Sit down. 

DuNSTAN Eenshaw. 

I have been ill, in Florence, and haven't had 
strength to struggle back to England till now. 

Hugh Murray. 

I'm soriy. What do you want of me ? 

Dunstan Eenshaw. 

Friendship. If you're not my friend I haven't 
one in the world. Murray, you know where she is ? 

Hugh Murray. 
Yes — I know. 

Dunstan Eenshaw. 
Tell me— tell me ! 

Hugh Murray. 
I can't tell you. I — I may not tell you. 

Dunstan Eenshaw. 
Ah ! I appeal to you. Exact any promise from 
me — be as hard on me as 3'ou please — only tell me, 
tell me I 



THE PROFLIGATE 119 

DUNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

All, you don't know what you're doing. I am mad. 
Night and day I see nothing but her face as it looked 
on me when she sent me from her ; night and day I 
hear nothing but that one word " Go," the last she 
spoke to me. The word won't let me sleep ; it beats 
so on my brain. Another word, a simple message, 
from her might drive it out. Only tell me where 
she is ! My wife, Murray — my wife ! 

Hugh Mureay. 

I would tell you of my own will. But T can't 
break faith with her. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW, 

She has not softened towards me then a little— a 
little, Murray ? 

Hugh Murray. 

Man, you must have patience. 

Dunstan Renshaw. 
Patience ! 

Hugh Murray. 
You must wait. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Wait ! It is a hundred years since I lost her — a 
hundred years, and she has not softened towards me 
just a little. \Sits gazing vacantly upon the ground.'] 

Hugh Murray. 
[To himself.'] Surely she would pity him if she 
saw him now, and if I can reconcile them it is my 
duty. I'll do my best ; it will be my consolation 



120 THE PROFLIGATE 

to have done my best. \To Dunst.\n.] Where are 
you going when you leave me to-night ? 

DUNSTAN EeXSHAW. 

Let me rest here, in your room, for a few hours. 

Hugh Murray. 
Have you left your hotel ? 

DuNSTAN EeNSHAW. 

I am staying nowhere ; I have been walking the 
streets till I came here. 

Hugh Murray. 
I'll order you a room in this house. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

No, no. It's only here I can rest. I shall rest here. 

Hugh Murray. 
Why here? 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Because I shall feel sure that a friend's eyes will 
look on me in the morning. 

Hugh Murray. 

Ring for what you want, otherwise the servants 
won't disturb you. 

DUXSTAN ReNSHAW. 

[To himself.] Won't disturb me — won't disturb 
me. No. 

Hugh Murray. 

I'll leave you now. Good-night. 



THE PROFLIGATE 121 

DUNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

You will not tell me where she is ? 

Hugh Murray. 
Till I have her permissiou, I cannot. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

You mean that, guessing I should follow her, she 
has taken precautions to avoid me — to avoid me? 
Your face answers me. 

Hugh Murray. 

[To himself.] She will relent— I know she will re- 
lent. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

I shan't see you again to-night, Murray? 

Hugh Murray. 
No— you'll not see me. Goodnight. 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Good-bye. 

Hugh Murray. 

[To himself.] But you shall see her ; I know she 
will relent. " [He goes out.'] 

DuNSTAN ReNSHAW. 

Fool ! fool ! Why couldn't you have died in Flor- 
ence ? Why did you drag yourself all these miles — 
to end it here? I should have known better — I 
should have known better. [He takes a phial from 



122 THE PROFLIGATE 

his pocket a)id slowly pours some poison into a tumbler.] 
When I've proved that I could not live away from 
her, perhaps she'll pit}- me. I shall never know it, 
but perhaps she'll pity me then. [About to drink.] 
Supposing I am blind ! Supposing there is some 
chance of my regaining her. Eegaining her! How dull 
sleeplessness makes me ! How much could I regain 
of what I've lost ! Why, she knows me — nothing can 
ever undo that — she knows me. Every day would be 
a dreary, hideous masquerade ; every night a wake- 
ful, torturing retrosj^ect. If she smiled, I should 
whisper to myself — "yes, yes, that's a very pretty 
pretence, but — she knows you ! " The slamming of 
a door would shout it, the creaking of a stair would 
murmur it — " she knows you ! " And when she 
thought herself alone, or while she lay in her sleep, 
I should be always steathily spying for that dread- 
ful look upon her face, and I should find it again 
and again as I see it now — the look which cries 
out so plainly — " Profligate ! you taught one good 
w'oman to believe in you, but now she knows you ! " 
No, no^no, no ! \_ITe drains the contents of the tum- 
bler.] The end — the end. [Pointing towards the 
clock.] The hour at which we used to walk together 
in the garden at Florence — husband and wife — 
lovers. [He pulls up) the ivindow-blind and looks out.] 
The sky — the last time — the sky. [He rests droiosily 
against the piano.] Tired — tired. [He ivalks rather 
unsteadily to the table.] A line to Murray. [PTri^- 
ing.] Aline to Murray — telling him — poison — mor- 
phine — message [The pen falls from his hand 

and his head droj^s forward.] The light is going out. 
I can't see. Light — I'll finish this when I wake — 
I'll rest. [He stagger's to the sofa and falls upon it.] 



THE PROFLIOATE 123 

I shall sleep to-night. The voice has gone. Leslie 
— wife — reconciled 

[Leslie enters softly and kneels by his side.] 

Leslie. 

Dunstan, I am here. 

[He half opens his eyes, stares at her, and his head 
falls back, but she has not noticed this.] 

Leslie. 

Dunstan, I have returned to you. We are one 
and we will make atonement for the past together. 
I will be your Wife, not your Judge — let us from 
this moment begin the new life you spoke of. Dun- 
stan ! 

[She sees tiieimper which has fallen from his hand, 
and reads it.] 

Leslie. 

Dunstan ! Dunstan ! No, no ! Look at me ! Ah ! 
[ She catches him in her aryns.] 

Leslie. 
Husband ! Husband ! Husband ! 



THE END. 



j.hvi.'on 



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